Harry Potter Is More Than a Little Tired
by candledot
Summary: Harry saved by Snape? Abusive relatives? Suicidal? SelfInjury? Whye is Harry bent on destruction? What happens when he becomes seriously ill? Angst! More Angst! Pain and Sadness!
1. Overwhelmed

More than a little tired By Candledot  
  
Lying in his bed that night, Harry couldn't quite believe his incredible circumstances, and that once again he had been returned to the living hell known as Number 4 Privet Drive. Not that he didn't deserve it, not that it wasn't better than what he had done to Cedric, not that it wasn't better than the danger that he would have put any of his friends families into had he stayed with them. That was what he did not want, to be responsible for more deaths, more tortures, more pain..  
  
Pain. The physical or the emotional, which hurt more, which drove him crazier? Today, it seemed that if it was a race between the two, they were neck in neck, and he wasn't sure which would win out. It would be far easier to just end it all, and he thought about it regularly. Ha-ha! What a fucking joke! The Boy-Who-Lived.. If only they knew, in reality, The Boy- Who-Wished-to-Die! Perfect Pussy Potter, the boy who everyone envied, the boy who had it all together, who would save the world single-handedly, the living bespectacled Messiah to the wizarding masses. Did these people ever actually listen to themselves? How realistic was it that all 135 lbs and 5 and a half feet of height could bring down the second greatest madman of all time!! Did the Muggles send a little girl to take down Hitler? What a crock of crap - he was only 16 bloody years old, and as confused about life as the rest of his classmates in his year!  
  
Sighing as he rolled over to look out his barren yet barred window, he wondered if he had the guts to do what he wanted, or would he buckle to their pressure once again, go with the flow, eyes down and submissive, following his destiny and losing his soul along the way? Or should he just ensure that he had no soul left to go where he wanted, finish it all, leave the upcoming war to someone who was better equipped both physically and mentally, someone strong, tough and calculating. Someone older and more logical, someone who would stand up to a drunken fat man and let him have it, rather than take it noiselessly, pathetically, not being quick or strong enough to fight back, not having the wits about him to run like hell or hide.  
  
He was getting more than a little tired of the expectations and other crap that constantly got downloaded onto him. sick of being what people wanted him to be, would he ever get the chance to find his true self? He was no saint, as everyone thought he was, and his inner Slytherin was as strong and virile as his outer Gryffindor..  
  
Everyone has all of the four houses within them, though some traits are stronger than others. 'No wonder the sorting hat had been confused,' he spoke aloud, now that he lay in his bed fingering a razor blade. He came from practically nothing, and then was thrown into a world where he was famous, and had a vault full of gold, literally, and could have any fuckin thing that he wanted. 'Unbelievable isn't it?' he said to himself. 'It's ridiculous, all this because someone else messed up a curse and didn't kill him. Normally, doesn't society in general make a big deal out of those who've died? 'It all seemed pretty mundane to Harry, he was pretty sure that 99% of the population continued living and breathing everyday, and who really gave a shit about them? Just because he had a goddamned scar running down the center (of all places) of his face, it became a big deal.  
  
If only they knew of all the other scars, the better and bigger ones, the ones that didn't heal, and the other ones that he didn't allow to heal. They wouldn't think he was so special and magical then, would they? Ah, the joys of privacy and concealing charms, it made life so easy. He wondered how Muggles did it and got away with it.  
  
There are some things which were only for him to know, and that was exactly the way he liked it. Snape had almost seen something once, in Potions, when Harry had shown up early for class, after a particularly nightmare ridden night. On those nights, when he felt as if the world was on his shoulders, and that everyone was leaning on him and he was crumbling, he would creep out of the dorm, head down to the boys lavatory and let his inner pain escape. He wasn't sure why he always went for his arms, particularly his left forearm, and his overly-large Dudley shirts and robes were an advantage in keeping private such matters. On that one morning though, he had been angry enough to have cut a little deeper and harder than intended. one of the lines hadn't stopped bleeding, even after breakfast (which he had skipped, again). He had been muttering a quick clotting charm on it for the third time when Snape had entered the classroom from his private chambers. Fortunately for Harry, Snape had flung the door open, and he'd gotten the sleeve down before the dark professor could scrutinize it further. Harry had looked him in the eyes, daring the greasy man to question him on his actions, yet Snape had, amazingly, said nothing. It had been more than a little disquieting, and Harry was far more careful after that.  
  
He shuddered at the memory. The idea of getting caught by his supposed enemy: the humiliation of it all, having to try to explain, the possibility of Veritaserum being administered, having to answer Dumbledore's bloody questions 'til his head spun. the looks of pity (Pity!), concern, Slytherin's mocking him. He'd rather have Vernon pound on him nightly than have to deal with that. As it was, it appeared that the later was becoming a trend. According to Vernon, it all had to do with Harry being, apparently, the sole reason why the Grunning's Drill Company was close to going out of business. In retrospect, Harry couldn't understand why he HADN'T thought of cursing Vernon's business. it would have been a lot more fun that way, and then at least he would have really deserved the beatings which occurred in this room at night. Running his finger down the length of the blade, he wondered again, this time aloud 'Should I just give up or live up to these expectations?'  
  
Hedwig fluttered her wings in response, and on impulse, Harry rose carefully from the bed, opened her cage, and willed the bars on the window to widen, allowing her to leave for the rest of the night. He stroked her affectionately one more time, murmured to her about how she had never expected much from him, and watched her fly off into the night sky. 


	2. Obscuro!

2 Obscuro  
  
"Get up, you lazy little son of a bitch!"  
  
Vernon was hammering on Harry's door, shaking with outrage to find that his place at the kitchen table had NOT been set, there had been NO breakfast made, and the coffee pot was COLD! Dudley was sniveling away down in the kitchen, Petunia was flying into pendantics about how her son would starve to death (even Vernon had snorted at this), and he would now be late for another day of explaining to his boss why no one wanted to buy drill bits right now. Just fantastic, the boy would pay for this, and dearly.  
  
"I want and answer, you insolent deadbeat! Get up and get out here right now." With that, Dursley fired a well aimed kick at the base of the door, which splintered at the impact. " Look what you made me do now!" he snarled in outrage, snapping open all of the locks on the outside of the jam and flinging the door open into the room beyond.  
  
"You're gonna pay now, boy." He smirked as he pushed his considerable self into the dim room, stalking over to the small bed in the corner where he could see the shape of his wife's sister's son curled up in a ball.  
  
He reached over to grab the slight shoulder, the boy huddled facing towards the wall. It was strange, the boy would usually just stare at him when addressed, looking at Vernon as if HE were the anomaly. This simply made the outraged male the more violent. Wrenching the boy over, he stood for a moment in shock at what he beheld there. the sheets were literally soaked in blood, as was the boys clothing.. The razor blade still grasped in his now still hand. The only way that Vernon could tell the boy was still alive (though how much he didn't know) was by the way the wisp of long hair that fell over his face moved every so often as he breathed.  
  
"Bloody Hell! How am I supposed to explain this? What did you go and do now! Wake up, ingrate!" His beefy hand stung as he slapped the boy hard across the face, instantly drawing another bruise there. He waited a moment, and there was no movement or response, so he drew back and dealt him another one. With that, the boy groaned and shifted slightly.  
  
"Petunia!!!" Vernon hollered at the top of his lungs. "PETUNIA!!!!!"  
  
"Vern?" she called from downstairs.  
  
"Petunia! Bring up the Freak's bloody wand from under the stairs. He's hauled off and tried to doff himself under our roof, and now he can go ahead and fix himself up. I'm not taking him to a hospital; it would be far too much effort. Bloody hassle," He muttered to himself.  
  
"Did you hear that boy?" He yelled again, directly into Harry's ear. "You're going to fix your own mess!!! I'm not going to let you die, as much as I would love it if someone else went ahead and killed you. You want to die, go and do it at that Ruddy School for Freaks you love so much - Warthog's or whatever the hell you call it. But you're not going to kill yourself here." With that, he reached over and wrapped his hands in the blanket and the end of the bed and clamped his hands over the still oozing wounds.  
  
"I wouldn't want to get your tainted blood on me. Disgusting display. you're little friends will be right proud of you I'm sure!"  
  
Harry's aunt came rushing into the room, a tea towel around her hand so as not to actually touch the horrible stick in her hands.  
  
"Here." She held it out; as if afraid it might spin round and bite her.  
  
"BOY!" Vernon hollered. "BOY! Here's your ruddy wand! Now perform some magic trick on your arms to make them stop bleeding this instant!"  
  
Harry tried in vain to open his eyes, trying to remember what had happened, why he felt so exhausted and weak. Had it been Voldemort? His uncle's words had seemed confusing and muddled, and he hadn't grasped the meaning behind them. His musings were cut short by another Thump to his face.  
  
"Dad?" Dudley had appeared at the door, the expression on his face making him look like an ox. "What's the matter Dad, what's he gone and done this time?" Dudley stepped in further to get a better look, and was pulled out of his stupidity by the sight that met him.  
  
"Harry! Harry's dead! Dad finally killed him! We've got to call an ambulance!" Dudley spun and his heel and lumbered out of the room.  
  
"Don't you dare, Dudley! PETUNIA! GO and stop him, quick! We don't want the authorities to find out - what a disgrace!"  
  
"Dudikins! Dudikins, darling. it's OK, Daddy has everything under control. Harry isn't dead, he just did something stupid. Just go and play on the computer honey!"  
  
Dudley stopped at the top of the staircase, confused. Harry needed help, that much was clear, and it was very clear that Daddy DID NOT have everything under control right now. For the first time in his life, he did the right thing.  
  
"Fine then, Mommy." He answered subserviently, and then crept down the stairs to phone the authorities.  
  
Meanwhile, Vernon had placed the wand into Harry's hand, and pointed it at the opposite wrist.  
  
"Say your mumbo-jumbo, boy. Say it and seal these cuts. Do it now or I'll really hurt you!" The grip on the boy's thin hand tightened, and Harry whimpered in response.  
  
"That's right boy, say your thing!"  
  
Frowning with concentration, Harry tried hard to decide exactly which spell or curse he wanted to use. He did not want to survive this day, but clearly he was going to have to do something.  
  
"Obscuro" he sighed, touching the tip of his wand to the site. Skin magically appeared over the shreds of flesh that were his inner wrist. In less than a minute, it looked as good as new. Pleased at the result, Vernon let go of Harry's hand and moved the wand to his left, then went through the procedure again.  
  
"Better. Don't bloody well waste time trying to do that again. I guarantee you will not succeed, and I WILL make you so sorry that you ever tried. I want you out of my house by this time tomorrow. My son and wife don't need to deal with this crap from you, and neither do I. I don't care where you go, what happens to you; if you rot in the streets or return to those freaks you call friends. Just get the hell out of my life." With that, Vernon slammed the door behind him, leaving Harry light-headed and stunned in his wake.  
  
When Harry opened his eyes again, he was shocked to see his wand on the bed beside him. Quite an oversight on Vernon's parts really. quite a good one. Picking it up, he waved it over the soiled bedclothes and the stains disappeared leaving the sheets and pajamas looking like new. Pleased at the result, Harry tried sitting up, found that he could, and went to the loose floorboard to eat the last piece of chocolate cake that Mrs Weasley had sent him for his birthday. The sweetness cleared his head and powered him up, and he thought about being able to finally leave this place. What a relief.  
  
Harry would also rather that he rotted in the gutters than stay under this roof one more night. If only Hedwig had returned, it would be a lot simpler to leave and contact his friends. But then, he never really knew if they were his friends or not, maybe they just liked the fame of hanging out with Harry bloody famous Potter, riding on the coattails of his unwanted fame. On second thought, he preferred to do whatever he would on his own, no strings attached. To die alone, free to move onto the next journey or just to slide into an eternal sleep, no sorrow, no emotions, just nothing, emptiness.  
  
Feeling much better at that idea, he gathered his meager belongings into a satchel; he didn't bother with his trunk, since he would not be requiring his school robes ever again. Hearing sirens blaring down the street, and briefly wondering whether Dudley had actually called an ambulance, Harry swung his feet out of bed, slowly stood up, and finding the bedroom door to be unlocked, walked down the stairs and out the front door while the Dursleys continued arguing in the kitchen at the back of the house. 'Vernon has no idea what a great favor he's done for me." Harry smiled to himself. "This is going to be ridiculously easy. 


	3. Black Glare

Redemption  
  
Severus Snape was none too impressed to have his precious private time interrupted, let alone the few hours of sleep he got in the early hours every night. Hearing someone or something hammering away at the small window of his dungeon chambers, he flung back the covers and hissed as his feet met the icy floor. Reaching up to the window's handle, he saw the snow white owl flapping its wings outside.  
  
"Potter!" He snarled, recognizing the bird instantly. "Bloody Potter playing tricks, is he?" Changing his mind and deciding not to let the creature in after all, he spun on his heel and went back to his bed, pulled the curtains round and laid back down, head under pillow. "Won't get the better of me, two can play at his game."  
  
He had assumed that the bird would give up and go harass someone else, but she did not. If anything, she increased the intensity at which her wings hit the window, and began shrieking in a most ear-piercing manner. Throwing the pillow and snatching back the curtains so fast that one of them pulled down, Snape arose from his bed for the second time and strode angrily across the room. He pulled down the handle and pushed the window open to let the panic-stricken Snowy in.  
  
"Why couldn't you go and harass Dumbledore?" He asked, and then chastised himself, remembering that the headmaster had been called away to the Ministry on special business. Running his hands through his lank hair, he waited for the bird to alight on the chair beside his desk. Instead, she kept fluttering around his head and then to the door, continuing to shriek at him.  
  
"Just bloody well sit still, so I can pick up whatever note or letter you have for me!" He hollered at her, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to properly wake up. Removing his fists form his eyes, and reaching over to grab his robes off the foot of the bed, he looked properly at he panicked bird and realized three things. Firstly, she did not have a letter or parchment tied to her leg (how completely absurd), and not only was she looking thinner than she ought to, but there seemed to be, was it, BLOOD streaked on her left wing.  
  
"Come here, fool creature, so that I can inspect you." He held out his arm, and this time the owl obliged. Ruffling her feathers with his hands, the potions master realized both from feel and scent that it was indeed blood on her wing, and there was more of it on her underbelly. It didn't have the scent of animal blood, it had the smell of WIZARD'S BLOOD, which had it's own specific feel and tang to it. There was only one wizard who would have been messing with this owl, and he could guess by the birds panic that something had happened to the Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he hissed at the bird, waving a wand over his head to get dressed and heading out the door as the owl darted over his head. "What in Gods name have you gotten yourself into now, boy? Can't even handle yourself for three weeks once school shuts, can you? Well, whatever it is, I hope you can bloody well wait until I get there to save your hide once again!"  
  
With that, the door to his chambers slammed behind him, and he ran through the dungeon corridors out through the Great Hall and out the front steps of the Castle to the Apparition Point at the main gates. 


	4. The Gift?

Never Just a Dream  
  
Holding his wrists and wondering if he should perform the counter-spell to the one which made them appear healed ( he could FEEL the blood slowly oozing along under his skin, even thought he Obscuro charm had slowed down the flow significantly). Settling under some large cedar bushes at the far edge of the park, he decided to continue with his plan. In committing the act upon himself and watching the crimson flow begin again, dark shadows filled his eyes, and he slumped prostrate to the ground, rare thoughts flying through his head. They would indeed be surprised at him, that much was for certain. How they had all marvelled at him, amazing Potter and his amazing scar that came with his Amazing dreams. What had they called it again.. That was it..  
  
A Gift.  
  
He began an inner conversation with himself, one which he assumed would be his last. The bushes above him rustled slightly, as a bird of pure white landed, but in his altered state he did not notice this, so lost was he in his communiqué with himself.  
  
How often do I get asked the question, how many people want to know where I developed the innate ability to gauge a person instantly, or a horse or other animal for that matter? They are so intrigued by it, it seems so amazing and brilliant to them . "You must have such great deductive reasoning" they might say, or maybe they add "you are so perceptive," "You are so aware of the subtle nuances" My personal all-time favorite "you have such an understanding of human nature." I snort at that one. Just because I am AWARE of it certainly does not mean that I UNDERSTAND it. God help me that I should understand the horrible things I feel when I am around those types. Understanding does NOT necessarily give you power, not even so much as the truth might set you free.  
  
The ability to know, instantly, if someone has been abused at any level, but most especially those whose childhoods were torturous rather than simply tumultuous as they should have been. Does one not recognize a whipped dog when they see it? Does one fail to acknowledge their own kindred? The fear, loathing, hurt, pain, terror, confusion, self-hatred? The weakness, pity, the RAGE that seethes below? How is it possible to look into the eyes of the man whose childhood dreams were torn from him by the hands of his father and NOT see it lying there, even under the most cleverly constructed façade? To me, these things lay about on a person, a book ready for the reading. You can be as successful in the game of life as you want to be, you can have it all financially and prosper at all levels, but there are certain things which no amount of time nor money will ever erase from your soul. They are those things which created you into who you are, your core being.  
  
I laugh that people might actually call this a gift, this curse which I alone seem to possess. A skill, most assuredly, though not a skill won by hard work and studious practice, no .but a gift - how ludicrous is that? What a fine gift indeed - to be given the option to awaken (repeatedly) in the middle of the night by your own howls of anguish as the tears course down your face onto that already sodden pillow and blankets. Hands entangled in sheets which had been unknowingly shredded in your blind panic to escape the terror? All the tears that were shed before you could tear yourself away from the horrors you witnessed.  
  
To know that you have seen someone you loved die. not only that you SAW it, but that you were part of the event - not simply a spectator, but taking a role in the final role of the drama of their life. And the knowledge that there was nothing you could do about it, as you lay shivering under the covers, lights blazing and body soaked in an unnatural sweat. Nothing could be done to prevent it, nor change it; you simply got to wait with baited breath to see the cleverly woven foreshadowing come to fruition.  
  
Never knowing if that vision will come true in a day, a week, a few months, but that inevitably, it WILL come true, though most likely not exactly as portrayed to you in the grand theater of the night. No, you see, that would be far too simple, and you would most likely be able to change things for the better if you recognized that course of events. but a simple switch of characters in the scene in question might prevent that. A Léger-de- main, a carnival trick with mirrors and yet so effective, time and time again.  
  
"This gift which was so unwittingly given, which made you wish that the night would never come with it's darkness and exhaustion, the gift which prevented you from closing your lids at night for fear of what you may see. To punish yourself with night after night of forcing yourself to stay awake, until your body screamed no more and you merely collapsed?"  
  
"Gift indeed." He spoke aloud, just barely audible. This was no gift. "A Curse, and one for which there is no counter."  
  
"Ah, Potter," A smooth voice spoke to him from behind the bushes. "That is where I beg to differ with you". 


	5. Disapparate

5  
  
Just my luck that Potter's bloody owl should lead me here: not towards a civilized home where I might chance a cup of hot tea after a windy and slightly rainy ride, but to some abandoned park in North London. As it is, I detest travel by broomstick and go that way as rarely as is possible. It wasn't feasible to attempt to apparate to wherever the bird was heading to, since it was clearly not the usual hiding spot. Too far North-East for that. Luck has never been on my side.  
  
She landed in a large shrubbery, and for a moment I wondered that possibly she was too tired to carry on. It had been head winds all the way, as exhausting for her as it was for me, I'm certain. I hovered about her, waiting to go again, fighting impatience as hard as I could when I heard it. It was a low hum, almost imperceptible in the blustery darkness. I began to discern words, and realized that someone was nearby, talking.. But to whom? Who was it? Flicking my wand over myself and whispering a disappearance charm ( one DOES NOT require a fancy invisibility cloak such as Potter or Malfoy to go around unnoticed.. do the children never wonder at my sources of information?) and drifted down to the wet grass below.  
  
The voice sounded detached, as if he (it certainly did not sound like a woman) were disassociated from himself. Assuming it was a Muggle alcoholic or a derelict, I made moves to rouse the owl and leave. The bloody thing actually nipped me and refused to move away, so I went back down to have a closer look. The mutterings were louder now - whoever was under that tree was indeed having a full-blown discussion with them. My senses on edge, I stealthily went back down to check it out again. When I touched the ground and ducked under the low-lying branches, it hit me. The smell was overwhelming and nauseating, my head reeled as I steeled myself now to turn and retch immediately. The place stank, literally STANK of blood. Wizard's blood.  
  
It all connected in a heartbeat, and I crept forward and saw the body that went with the voice. It was none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, whom I referred to as The-Bane-Of-My-Existence. Harry Potter was under the Tree, bemoaning his fate and clearly bleeding to death.  
  
He was going on now about some curse - what was he referring to? - And how there was no counter. Fallacies, every curse, hex and spell has a counter. there is no exception to the rule, although some require magic so dark that no one dares.. This is when I chose to make my presence known rather than just wait for him to die.  
  
"Ah, Potter" I spoke aloud, stepping up behind him. "That is where I beg to differ with you".  
  
The look of horror on his face was dramatic; the guilt in his features was shocking. He went to try and crawl away, and collapsed face down on the pine-needled earth. I scooped him up in my arms, barely breathing to avoid the reek of blood, and disapparated. 


	6. Similarities

a BIG THANKS to all for being so incredibly patient with this. Yes, it was a long time coming, however I feel it was worth the wait. I am afraid you are dealing with a quality person and a perfectionist at heart. I love my characters so very much, they are like family and I cannot let them down by writing about them poorly. Hopefully things will come along a little quicker now, and thanks for all those great reviews!!  
  
6 Similarities As I sit here watching the Boy-who-Lived struggle to recover from his apparent attempt to be the Boy-Who-Died-At-His-own-hands, I as shocked by the similarities between the two of us. I don't mean physically, past the black hair and gaunt looks, which I had never noticed before, come to think of it, but that's beside the point. He did a good job on the Obscuro charm. By the time I got him back here to my home, I had expected my robes to be drenched in his blood it reeked so badly. and yet there had been nothing. Bloody fool just about succeeded he did, but he's too young yet to get away with that one. The other marks on him. someone set too on this boy lie I haven't seen in a long, long time.. As long as the last time I looked in the mirror when I lived under my fathers roof. Yes, there are some amazing similarities between the two of us, and as I wait for the Potions I've brewed and administered to fully take affect and begin to heal the child inside and out, I am left here to contemplate for a moment the circumstances which still have me here.  
  
Why I have not killed myself yet, I cannot fully explain - let's just say that a peculiar set of happenstance has prevented me from it thus far. I get close, timing is good - wham! Something comes up and gets in my way!!! That no one has beat me to my demise is even more shocking - God knows, I have my fair share of mortal enemies out there in the front lines, and I am cautious, but not paranoid like some others in my position.. What good would it do to look over my shoulder constantly?  
  
Being safe is a feeling I have never truly known - I cannot pull up a memory where I wasn't cautious about my actions, how I moved, who I spoke with and when, how I addressed people. Any wrong move could wind up in a painful predicament. Don't trust me, don't trust what is said around you or to you, don't trust a promise made. All just words, all easily broken or turned against you, nothing more than hollow lies to each other and oneself. My parents were VERY concerned about public appearances and being, correct and appropriate (that I be a boot-licking yes-man to everything they say) at all times, at all costs. The learning curve was significantly short and swift for me.  
  
It's an interesting thing how you can stuff it all away, hide the pain and the anger and the hurt, hide the emptiness that can only be seen behind your eyes. funny how it comes out all on it's own, unbidden, outraged, wild in it's own self. I could tell things that would turn one's heart black, as mine has already become. Hard to control, harder still to hide, and once it starts, seems damn near impossible to get it to ever stop again. The worst is when I can't just turn it all onto myself. Christ, my poor bloody students! What did they ever do to deserve a teacher who is so blatantly resentful over their normal childhoods? It is no ones problem but mine, no ones " childhood" (sneer) but mine, no one else allowed themselves to be treated that way, saw what I saw felt what I felt...the only people who were part of it, they aren't here to take it out on anymore, dealt with their own deaths and will probably relive ever mistake they ever make in hell, for eternity... maybe then they will figure out that they fucked up. Maybe... It's just wishful thinking. There was never any remorse before, why would the simple act of dying change anything at all?  
  
I look down at the boy with his bruised cheeks and black circles under his eyes.Black. I relate to that color - it is my soul, it is my mind, it is my heart and it is my core. There is nothing left within or without me anymore that is not just that. Black. Hollow.Empty . Abandoned. Severed. Destroyed. Disgusting.  
  
Looking down at him again, all I feel is a purely black rage. Why do people speak of seeing red? All I can see is Black. Violent Black. Black swirls in front of my eyes as I give into the demon in me. Digging my fingernails into my palms as I mentally take out the razors, coping mechanisms that we all develop over time to deal with the pain that can't be seen. Blood for the tears which are not permitted to be shed. When I cut, I half expect what comes out of my veins to be that same color, Black blood seeping out of me. Creature of the night I have become, it only makes sense that I might be a black-blooded creature.  
  
I rise to the window, looking for any sign of the first rays of light. If the boy makes it until then, I can breathe a bit. But no, it's dark as coal out there, not even any stars to note. Sitting back down and reaching over to take his mangled hand in mine, I loose myself to this exhausted reverie. I've always loved the night - no eyes to watch me, doors locked securely, safe on my own now, no one can come and get me, unsuspecting/// it s so much better, now, not fearing being attacked, not worrying about the physical abuse. The hitting stopped, sweet relief the day I moved out, not soon enough, should have done it when I was five, I think it wouldn't have LOWERED the quality of my life even had I lived on the streets on London. And yet, now that they have stopped it, I am trapped with a mind which seems to have believed the crap it was feed. I am a worthless git, I am deserving for every damn thing that happens to me, and if someone attempts to treat me kindly, clearly they can't see who I really am, and what I really deserve. Nothing. But. Loathing and Hatred. Can't they look at me and see, it doesn't matter??? None of it matters. Nothing but this boy who nearly ended his life because he wasn't a man yet and couldn't fight off his attackers; so he joined in with them admitting defeat.  
  
I wonder, should I have been in his position and have been able to fulfill the task of taking matters into my own hands, would anyone really care past the initial shock of it all??? I mean, there would be plenty of reaction, but reacting and caring are to entirely different things.. I don't believe for a second that after the first "I don't believe it" shock effect thoughts passed through everyone's mind, that they wouldn't just get on with their lives, like I was yesterdays dinner. In retrospect, there is not really much to hold me back, is there. However at the moment there is young Mr. Potter keeping me around. Yet I wonder, at the potential in my killing myself. What would it start, or what could it start? What if there was one that really did care. cared so much that they felt that they could no longer continue on, or someone who was also hovering at the edge of the abyss, and decided that if I couldn't continue on, then maybe he or she couldn't either.Draco Malfoy's face flashes past my eyes momentarily and I wonder at it. Last thing I need is to go to hell with TWO deaths on my head.. (The icing on the cake of discrepancies. Bloody good thing I like hot climates.)  
  
The boy gasps in his potion-induced sleep and appears to be fighting a war with something far greater than himself. The mind yearns for death and yet the body struggles against all odds for life. Sometimes I wonder if it is possible to cheat God - for example, if you decide that you want to die, but don't want to be too obvious about it, so you develop an eating disorder and starve, does that count as suicide? The actions of the boy. what if they were not fully deliberate? What if he had not intended to cut this deep? Would it then count as accidental or not? Maybe I should make a pot of tea. I am getting far too esoteric about this entire situation. Sleep deprivation will do that to a man.  
  
I am loathe to tell Albus about this one. He would never, under any circumstances, have seen this coming for the boy wonder. He'll know in time, I will tell him, but for now Potter's secret is safe with me. I think I'll take a headache potion with my cup of Earl Grey. I don't need to be THAT distracted with the boy in this shape. It's strange, the things that go through your head, the secrets you cannot tell anyone, even thought they try to guess. or maybe I am less skilled at disguising things now than I used to be. I don't know if it is from my "intensity" as Albus calls it, or maybe from repression as I call it. Poppy fathomed that possibly genetics were to blame, though I know most likely the case might be that they are the legacy of getting hit about the head as a child. Whatever the cause, these frequent pains in my head at times are rather unbearable. Blinding and debilitating, it's no wonder why I am so miserable to be around! Here's a clue I should pass on to all my dear students - be in agony for 4 days, having to try to continue on with your day to day activities when you would prefer to apply the Avada Kedavra curse on yourself can be a little, shall we say, tiresome.  
  
I have no energy for pleasantries, not even the strength to eat take care of myself. Where do pleasantries get one anyways? A pack of "false friends" such as this boy has? It's much easier just to let everyone believe the mean, cold-hearted prick impression, that to run the risk that one might actually have a clue of what I am, how I feel, how I hurt. I've learned to never let them know how you hurt, or what creates it; they will only use it against you. Potter here has certainly learned this the hard way. This I too have learned time and time again since I was a small child, and lately have been fortunate enough not to have to worry about it. They can't get you when they don't know about your weaknesses, your loves, your frailties. This boy understands frailties, of that I am assured. I sorely underestimated him, my grandiose thoughts of his famous life and fancy house and being waited on hand and foot. Guilt rides over me as a watch him battle to regain all he has lost. I will never forgive myself for this.  
  
Penance. Penance for what I am, for the fact that I even exist - I have been in a state of guilt and regret since my first awareness. How is it that so many people in the world die, get killed, or acquire deadly diseases that they don't want? They have great lives, they enjoy their family, work, the experience of being. they have MEANING to their lives! I wonder how it works that these people wind up dying, and yet here I am, so many years later, still waiting and hoping for my chance to die and it doesn't get granted. After all, its not like I am serving one of God's higher purposes, is it? Bloody Potions Master to a pack of imbecile half- squib children. How lofty my lot in life indeed.  
  
It's hard, the waiting - I want for the first time since I saw him in the Great Hall five years ago to see this boy's green eyes. To see some proof of life in him, other than this weak lift of a pulse that runs through his wrist every 10 seconds. The first striation of pink is edging across the sky. It will be morning soon, and the world will continue on while we wait at the edge of our existences to see what fate will decide. 


	7. The Darkest One

7-  
  
So I have decided that YES, this is a Severitus challenge piece - I don't know how far I'm going to go with it, or what will happen. No guarantees on Harry living either - reality bites you in the ass sometimes, even in JK Rowling's world. I figure that she's going to kill both Albus and Sev in book seven, so we might as well have some fun in the meantime, no??? Thanks for the reviews, I feel really bad about those who reviewed pre-NC- 17ban - all of them were lost as a result, and I must say that REALLY hurt (  
  
OK - and what's with Sev getting fat in the second movie??? Since when???? Rolls are not OK when one wears form-fitting robes!!!!I'm so confused!!!  
  
The Darkest One  
  
"ENERVATE!"  
  
"Fuck."  
  
*sigh*  
  
"ENERVATE!!!!" As an afterthought, "NOW!!!"  
  
*sigh*  
  
"Motherfucker!"  
  
"GODDAMNIT POTTER!!! FUCKING EVERVATE!!!!!!!"  
  
His headache was building, his energy was severely depleting, his temper was flaring, and Bloody Potter has still not managed to utter a single word, or even to feign life. All Obscuro charms and Glamours had been removed, and yet. nothing.. Severus was beginning to seriously re-think having brought the boy into his own home in the first place.  
  
What if, in his stubborn single-mindedness and need for atonement, had had inadvertently brought the boy here to die??? Wouldn't that be a charm??? Savior of Wizarding World dies at Suspected Death Eaters Home. He could read the headlines already.. Skeeter would have a field day. He would be dead. Along with Potter. In Purgatory. How delightful. This day could not possibly get any better. He'd gotten Harry through the night, that was true enough, but the relief Severus had felt in the first pink tinges of daybreak had been short lived.  
  
Soon after the sun had risen and Severus had downed his first cup of black coffee, the Boy-who-Lived took a turn for the worse. The potions master had leaped to the boy's bedside the second his breathing pattern had changed, but no combination of charms, counter-curses, or attempts at getting potions down the boy's throat had any effect. If anything, Severus' efforts had managed to further distress the boy's body and his breathing had indeed stopped completely for a full minute.  
  
Nothing Voldemorte had ever thrown at him could compare to the terror Severus felt in those moments. A breaking point, he had resorted to praying to a God he had been taught didn't exist, and charming the room to 95% oxygen saturation. He wasn't sure which one of the two activities had worked, but the boy HAD begun to breathe again. Severus was certain that without increasing the blood volume in Harry's body, his efforts would all prove futile in a short period anyway. The thought of giving the boy some of his own blood never once crossed his mind, and he had always been abysmal at healing charms.  
  
Now that the boy was in his home, and appeared to be in such a severe state, it would be impossible to attempt to apparate him to Hogwarts or St Mungos (Imagine the scene that would be had there!). However, if the boy was simply sleeping it off, then Severus could shove some potions down his throat and hand him off to someone more capable. He was a Potions Master, and could brew any curative on the planet for any ailment other then Avada Kedavra, but they proved useless to an unconscious patient. It seemed logical, so he resorted to attempt to revive the boy, a full arsenal of vials in their tray seated neatly on the mahogany dresser beside the bed. There was something for everything - this was one of the secret stashes he kept in store for his monthly returns from unsuccessful Death Eater Meetings.  
  
When he had first gotten Harry in, after cleaning the copious amounts of blood which had gushed on removal of the Obscuro, he had dumped a few potions into the boy's mouth and muttered a spell to force the boy to swallow. Such things were rarely effective in these circumstances, a wishful thinking if you will, and the boy's overwrought body had promptly returned most the potion back onto the covers. In doing so, the boy had begun chocking and Severus was certain he had aspirated on some of the vomit. That worry could be dealt with when, if, Harry regained consciousness.  
  
He had anticipated the need to move quickly, and had unstoppered all the vials, event he most unlikely.. However, Potter showed no inclination to open his eyes or return to the land of living at this point. He had gasped out once or twice during the night, but it was simply the body and mind battling over life or death. So Severus would continue to be stuck with the half-dead boy ensconced in HIS bed, and hope that God was indeed responding to his ill-formulated prayers. (Dear God figure - Save the Potter boy, or they will have my head. No - Save him even if they wouldn't have my head. His dark side has piqued my interest. Grateful indeed, Severus.) 'HOW NOBLE, SEVERUS' he sneered to himself..' I wouldn't even answer my OWN prayers for Christ's sake!'  
  
The boy made no move, no change in breathing, no flicker of the lids, nothing. he had been semi-conscious when Severus had found him, but then had collapsed. It had been a half hour to get him home, and during that time the boy had continued to bleed out. A lot. Once he had removed the Obscuro, it was like a tidal wave had hit the bed. The blood had literally pooled on his silk sheets. HE was so very, very grateful for cleaning charms. He would have vomited repeatedly if he had been required to use Muggle cleaning methods, since it had been followed not long after by the vomiting episode. If it wouldn't have clogged Severus' thinking, he would have administered an anti-nauseant potion to himself.  
  
Reaching over and taking Harry's cool wrist in his slender hands, he held his breath slightly. Yes, it was still there - thready, weak, hard to discern.. But it was there. A body's will to survive is strong. The boy's breathing was barely noticeable - a hand on his chest was the only way to tell properly, and Snape counted the pained rise and fall of the chest. He knew exactly how much blood a Muggle could loose and still survive - Voldemort's revels often ended in such a manner, and Malfoy's revels ALWAYS ended this way - they expected Severus to keep tabs on the details - not a scientific minded one in the whole lot other than him. Even in his most analytical state, a task he did not relish.  
  
He wondered if Wizards needed more or less blood to survive. wondered if it was documented anywhere..wondered at why he always needed such things to distract him from the real matters at hand. Wondered at volume increasing charms he had used in the past on his potions in the labs.wondered if it would work on the boy..wondered if he should try it.wondered what Pomfrey would do. went to get his wand out of his back pocket..prayed to God he was doing the right thing..noted the child's skin had gone a waxy pallor, and wondered if waiting any longer to take action would officially kill the boy..placed a hand back on the boys wrist for a pulse and couldn't find it.. Wait, there it is. too slow. he's going..No choice now, Severus old boy. Damned if you do, damned if you don't and you were damned by nature since the day you were born..  
  
He took a deep breath, raised his wand as he bit his lip so hard it bled, and called on the powers of the universe.  
  
"Adaugeo Sanguineus!" 


	8. Purgatory

Appologies for the delay – it's NOT abandoned, I just haven't been able to do this.... Thanks for hanging in there and the brilliant reviews...  
  
Harry Potter is More Than a Little Tired. Chapter 8- Purgatory.  
  
I hope that I am dead. I hope that I am dead more than I've ever hoped for anything in my existence. If I am not dead, I will be severely pissed off, and the person responsible for my lack of mortality shall wish they were dead. If I am dead, I wonder where I am....  
  
On the other hand, if I am not dead, I also wonder where I am. Wherever I am is quite comfortable and warm. I could stay like this a long, long while. Perhaps I am somewhere in the middle of life and death? Purgatory, I've heard it called. I've also heard it's a dreadful place to be. It's quite nice here. Doesn't really fit the expectations. Not that I am disappointed. But then life is rife with disappointment, so why should death be any different?  
  
It is strange to be here –I wonder if my body still exists? Am I free to take my mind anywhere I choose? If I try to move parts I no longer have, what will that be like? It's so dark here, are my eyes open or shut? What happens if I try to open the eyes I think I still have.... Possibly I will try.... Possibly I'll just stay floating in this darkness, and let my mind go blank.....But I'm kind of curious now, what if I'm missing out? Maybe if I try to look around, I'll know for a fact I'm dead... seems logical, I should try it really.......I will try it.....  
  
Careful, careful now.... Lift the lid slowly, just in case.... Oh, shit; that really really hurt. Like a razor through the eye, rather than the wrist.... Damn it...  
  
I'm in someone's damned bedroom... Fuck it all, I'm still alive.....  
  
I wonder if I can simply will myself dead....  
  
Shit, something is touching me.... Rather someone is touching me, lifting my arm.... Can't they ever just leave me alone?  
  
I would give all the gold in Gringotts to get this person to bloody well leave me alone....  
  
Oh super, now whoever is here is touching my face... obviously I was seen....  
  
Sound, bass notes warbling around me, twisting their way through my easy...whoever, or possibly, WHATEVER it is is trying to speak to me... I wonder why it sounds so distorted... like we're under water, or in a windstorm...  
  
My name, I think ... it IS a human, most likely a man, calling my name.... but not my proper name, just my last name.... the tones are becoming sharper now...Clearer this time...  
  
"Potter!"  
  
Holy fuck. I am sucked out of the vortex of nothingness into reality, like I once saw in a muggle film...Just when I thought things couldn't get worse... Only one adult person in the world calls me Potter..... the realization hits hard apparently, and all the nerve endings in my body fire at once, leaving me gasping and writhing as I return completely, painfully to the land of the living.  
  
It is true then, only the good die young, and I am officially returning to hell....  
  
Kill me now, just kill me now.... I take a deep breath and attempt to force my vocal chords in unadulterated sarcasm.  
  
"Professor Snape. What a pleasure." 


	9. Traumatized

'Why do people feel compelled to run off on their own to die? What animalistic instinct takes over as death sets in and logic fails, driving us to the point where salvation is unlikely due to the mere fact that there is no assistance available? The choking victim in the busy restaurant on Diagon Alley retires to the washroom to die alone; the person in extreme pain retires to their lonely bedroom to die agonizing in the darkness. Not only was Potter driven to kill himself, but also he was determined not to fail – trying to guarantee his success by crawling under a tree in a deserted park.'

'To crawl away and die in peace. No painful bright lights, no insensitive medical professionals speaking loudly, or poking him with sharps, or asking annoying questions that he didn't care to answer. No harassment, no interruptions. How miserable was his existence with the Muggles that he no longer cared? He clearly was depressed and driven to the point of self-destruction, and he certainly didn't want their assistance… Was he abused at their hands? Was the boy starving himself? Were they physically harming him? Or was he simply so self-involved and self-obsessed that he didn't care about the impact his actions would have on others in his life?'

'He was certainly in poor physical condition, and clearly not giving a damn about anything. Or was it the death of the rogue, Sirius Black, and the knowledge that he, Harry James Potter, was directly responsible for the death of the man. Was he so haunted by the blood on his hands that it drove him to the brink of sanity? Now there was no doubt that Sirius deserved to die for various crimes committed along the way.'

'Although I am aware of the existence of Pettigrew, aka Wormtail the sycophant, Black had many unatoned crimes on his conscience when he fell through the veil. He deserved all he got and more, the bastard! However, young Potter would be unawares of all of this; he would assume that Black was falsely accused for all his crimes, and died an innocent man.'

'Misled Potter. So naïve, so sheltered, so deluded, so distraught. How naïve, deluded and unawares have we all been to not notice the signs over the last 5 years he has attended our school? What HAS Minerva been doing, blatantly ignoring the horrid shape the boy has arrived in each year? James wasn't small, neither was delightful Lilly – why would their son be such a weakling then? Small, thin, weak, under nourishment is a clear cause of such things. Have the Muggles been starving him all these years? All of our diagnostic charms, a fully accredited Medi-Witch, and the only Potions Master in all of Great Britain on staff who allowed his petty past grudges to interfere with a child's health? Had Albus Dumbledore, who is supposedly the most powerful and omniscient Wizard of the last century, gladly handed this boy off to his torturers?'

A dark flush covered the Potions Master's normally grey façade as the impact of their negligence began to inflame his psyche. 'Unbelievable. UnBeFuckingLeivable. And I am the one to tell the Headmaster. I need a drink. Or two. Or a bottle. Or two. And a shower. And a night of uninterrupted sleep. Too much thought for one very early morning of apparition and a walk through the dewy grass to Hogwarts' main entrance. I simply cannot be bothered to deal with the wards of the various teachers' entrances strewn throughout the castle.' Too soon he scaled the steps, passed through the heavy wooden doors and the various staircases to the Headmaster's office entrance. A particularly surly Gargoyle greeted him with a lewd gesture at the password quickly muttered (Fizzing Whizzbees) and Severus returned the sentiment. 'Since when does bloody enchanted marble have the right to affront Severus Snape? Since never!' Severus inner monologue was interrupted with the appearance of the infamous stairs to the Headmasters office.

Scaling the rotating steps two at a time, his patience worn through, Severus arrived at the second entrance to Albus' office, taking a moment to allow both his respiration and heart rate to return to normal, and setting his features into a calm façade. Steeling himself for the misery of the next hour, he took one more long slow breath and then raised his hand to knock. Unfortunate luck for Severus, Albus was indeed in the castle, and the door silently opened permitting him into the chambers. Sitting quietly at his desk, as if expecting Severus all along. Severus took the seat Albus gestured at; resisting the urge to pace a hole through the lovely Persian imported carpet.

"As much as I always appreciate your company, it seems a bit late perhaps for a chat, Severus." The headmaster commented as he summoned a steaming hot silver tea service to his desk, the platter spinning lazily offering sugar, cream, biscuits and the like. "Perhaps you are being plagued by insomnia once again? I know a variety of interesting remedies you could try to alleviate it."

Well aware of the lateness of hour and the fact that he was indeed disrupting the few precious hours of sleep that Albus got each night, Severus chose to bite back his various remarks regarding Potions Masters being well versed in the art of sleep tonics. Instead he took a deep breath, feigned gratitude at the Headmaster's thoughtfulness and accepted a cup of black tea.

"I apologise for the inappropriate timing, however I felt that you should know of this matter as soon as I was able to give you a clear prognosis on the situation. Headmaster I received an urgent owl just over 24 hours ago by none other than Harry Potter's Hedwig. There was no letter or note attached, and the bird was in poor condition. All signs pointed to the boy being in danger, and the bird was in a significant state of panic. I decided to act upon it myself under the assumption that perhaps it was some kind of a crude joke, or worse a lure from He Who Must Not Be Named to try and set up a trap for you."

The sleep suddenly left Dumbledore's eyes, as did any remaining guise of humour. "And?"

"Potter was in distress."

"Typical Teenage behaviour, Severus."

"Emotional and physical distress, headmaster. He is currently recuperating at my family's manor, Sir."

"This is shocking news," the Headmaster began. " Is he safe now? Is his health stable?"

"Yes sir, if he wasn't in a safe state, I wouldn't have left him alone with our house elves. I can explain to you what I know Sir." Severus offered.

"No, I would prefer to hear this from Harry. Only he knows the entire story, only he can offer an explanation. As soon as he is ready Severus, bring him to me."

Stunned at this abrupt and sudden dismissal, Severus simply nodded and left the office, preferring to disapperate from beyond the grounds rather than deal with the dirty and disorienting and slightly unreliable Floo network for transportation. It was a relief to know that he would not be the one to completely destroy Albus.

It was three full days before Harry was in condition to safely travel with fear of a relapse. He had become silent, avoiding Severus' divining gaze at all costs, quietly, _submissively_ thanking Severus for every move and action he made. It was unnerving to say the least. Where was the snotty, arrogant, brave and bold young Gryffindor shithead that they were all accustomed to? On more than one occasion Severus had entered the room to find Harry singing some incomprehensible lyrics to himself. Or perhaps a garbled incantation? It made him uncomfortable; the boy didn't acknowledge his presence, and would continue to stare at the ceiling until he would start, blink and then thank Severus for being there. Initially the boy had been combative coming out of the coma. He had choice words for Severus, and was greatly unimpressed by the fact that he still existed in the mortal realm. That had ended halfway through the first day of consciousness, and Severus had felt that it was partly delusional behaviour to begin with. Now Potter was simply creepy. The one time Severus had been able to catch emerald eyes in his; there had been nothing there. Empty, hollow and devoid of any thoughts or emotion. Severus felt a wave of ice sweep through him at this. Perhaps the boy's mind was gone. Perhaps he had not done enough to save him after all. Most chilling of all was when he conceded without a word or argument when told that he would be going to HogWarts to explain his actions to the Headmaster.

The intensity was deafening. Harry sat slouched deep in the chair, as if trying to meld himself as one with the battered red leather. The Headmasters gaze fell upon him, and although he avoided eye contact the boy finally looked up at them both and spoke.

"You couldn't accept it." The tone was accusatory, the anger behind the words lost in defeat. Harry slumped back into the wing-backed chair, translucent skin with a shock of black tufted hair lost under a sea of bandages.

Both Severus and Albus sat silent, stunned. There were many things that they had expected the Boy-Who-Lived to say, and this wasn't on their respective lists. For a brief moment Severus stopped glowering, and swallowed as he placed his cup onto the saucer with a ridiculously loud "clink" of china. The old Headmaster looked, of all the crazy things, confused as his cup floated in mid-air directly in front of him, waiting to be drunk. The young wizard appeared to take courage from this, ran a heavily bandaged hand through his already dishevelled hair and spoke again.

"You just couldn't." His overwhelming green eyes locked onto Albus' now empty blue ones. "You couldn't accept my weaknesses. You ensured you were blind to them. What we don't know cannot harm us, hey Headmaster? I failed miserably to meet your expectations. My reputation preceded me apparently, and set us all us for a losing game. I am weak. The Muggles won. Some Wizard."

Suddenly his eyes turned to Severus, and held him. Onyx eyes mesmerized by Emerald, for once being read rather than reading the other party. Harry's demeanour grew darker, angrier, more injured than before. "And you. You just couldn't accept my strengths. It was never enough. You were hell bent and determined to drive me down as far and as hard as you could. I feel to pieces in front of you, and you were too busy gloating to recognise what was happening until…" His breath hitched, and he appeared wracked by a paroxysm of physical and emotional pain. "Until it was so far gone. So far that you had no choice. And then you made a choice that I hated. And I do hate you for it, as you have hated me for my name all these years without justification. It is a mutual affection, the only one we will ever share I am sure, _Professor_ Snape. I wish you had left well enough alone, and let me die the death I chose. I cannot live up to the fairy tales of the Wizarding World. I learned the hard way over the last 14 years in the Muggle world that fairy tales are nothing but a crock of crap, stories weaved to simply string those ridiculous enough to believe it another day. Death is preferable to this existence."

Albus' pallor changed for the worse once again, pain etching his features. Running a hand over his face, he could say only "Oh, Harry." Severus felt that he was going to be ill as Harry began his chanting again. In the silence of the office, the words were discernable for the first time.

"Step by step, heart by heart, left right left, we all fall down…."

"What nonsense is this now Potter? We are trying to have a conversation here to help you." Severus interrupted, and Albus raised a hand to stop him, but it didn't matter. Whatever Harry was spouting about, he didn't even appear to be aware of the room they were in.

"Bit by bit, torn apart, never quit, the battle rages on…"

"Potter! Really, this is quite enough of this nonsense!" Severus sharp and slightly panicked voice was quickly cut off by the Headmaster's level tone.

"He can't hear you Severus, wherever he has gone to, he's not mentally with us right now. Interrupting him might not even be safe at this point. He is elsewhere."

"Disassociating? He's been doing it all bloody week. He was so muddled and disoriented initially that it sounded like a botched incantation."

"Severus, I should have realised you would understand this. There are many issues to deal with in your house that are intrinsically Slytherin as a generalization; this is one of them." Albus feigned a ghost of a smile which was not returned.

"Abuse is not restricted to the Slytherin's alone, just more prevalent in my house. Lupin had alluded to this with Harry before, and I was too angry at James to recognise what was happening to his orphaned son." Severus sent a guilty look over at the boy who was still muttered under his breath, and had begun to rock softly in the chair. Severus watched at the boy motioned at his bandages. Brief motions, slashing motions, angry pained repetitive motions. Again the urge to be violently ill, to purge the sea of negativity and guilt out of his system nearly overwhelmed him.

"We all fall down… Like toy soldiers... " Harry's head suddenly snapped up, his eyes once again locking with Severus, tears wetting his gaunt cheekbones " How can I be their saviour when I can't even help myself?"


	10. Insomnia

**Chapter 10 - Insomnia**

'Big Up' to my 100th reviewer (and all the rest) for inspiring me to soldier on. You will note that original chapter 9 was torn down and replaced with something worth reading! Sorry for the drivel I posted initially, I was wrong and I know it! If I mis-write the Weasleys, please forgive me – I never write Weasley fic – they are far to normal for me to handle! The thumbscrews are tightening……..

"SO, he tried to _kill_ himself Dad?" Ron's blue eyes grew wider than average, and he put the handful of crisps back in the bowl. "That's bloody unbelievable, isn't it? I mean, it's Harry! He's a star seeker, the girls at school are really on to him, he's always in the paper, and he's got really, really great friends"

Ron sat back in his chair, face scrunched up in concentration. Mr. Weasley put a hand on the boy's shoulder and gave him a reassuring hug. "Sometimes, Ron it appears that one can have everything and yet feel left with nothing. I think perhaps the stress of the last two years has been hurting Harry more that any of us knew. Know we can only help him as best we can, and offer support, friendship, family and love to him."

"It was those damn Muggles, wasn't it Dad? Do you remember in our second year, when Fred and George and I had to go and rescue him in the car? Did you know that they fed him only a tin of cold soup a day? That he was locked in his room the entire time? His uncle was always threatening him… Dad, how could Professor Dumbledore allow this to happen?"

"I don't know Ron. I wishI had all the answers." A sudden shriek followed by loud wailing from upstairs signaled that Molly had told Ginny of the near-death of Harry Potter. Arthur ran his hand through his hair, and said "I truly think that this comes as a shock to all of us. Poor, poor Harry. So many things make sense now."

Fred and George entered the room, appropriately cowed under the circumstances. Sitting down on the davenport, they stared at Ron expectantly. Taking a deep breath, George spoke first, looking tremendously serious.

"So, you're not going to try and off yourself now are you, Ron?"

"Yeah, I mean, you must feel guilty. He was your best mate after all."

"Is his best mate, Crikey! But, you must be feeling some guilt for being jealous of him all these years, and then to find out that he was being abused… "

"and suicidal…"

"it's really got to eat at you, being a bloke's best friend and then…"

"And as your older brother.."

"Brothers!"

"Brothers, sorry mate. We don't want to see anything happen to you."

"You know you can talk to us, right Ron?"

"Yes, really, we are here for you man!"

"Honestly, I don't know how you can just sit there like that…"

"Don't you even care man! I mean, a man almost DIED!"

"BOYS! That is more than enough!" Molly Weasley's shrill voice cut the twins banter down instantly. "How DARE you? At a time like this, a little SUPPORT is needed!"

Blushing as bright as their hair, eyes to the floor in shame at their thoughtlessness both Fred and George immediately apologized. Ron was indeed looking near tears, and his freckles stood out horribly his skin had gone so pale.

"I wasn't thinking."

"It was the shock really, I mean, bloody 'ell!"

"Didn't mean to sound like I was coming down on you, really..."

"Couldn't think of a better best friend, you basically saved his life first year!"

"And if it hadn't been for you, he wouldn't have been rescued second year…"

"But then we wouldn't have been grounded, mind."

"Well, there is that. But still…"

"WE BOTH THINK IT'S A DAMN SHAME!" In unison.

"That will do, boys. Harry will need those who he is close to around him. As the Dursleys are about to be handled by the ministry, that means us! We will need to go to Snape Manor tomorrow to see Harry, and to remind him of his real family, here with us. He will have a long recovery, I would assume, and perhaps we could help brighten his perspective." Arthur Weasley's quite and authoritative voice silenced everything but Ginny's sniffling. All around him nodded in agreement, and Molly pulled the twins close into a hug.

"I'm going to make some hot chocolate, and then we should all try to get a little sleep. This is a huge shock for all of us. Your father and I both expect you all on your best behavior tomorrow at Professor Snape's home. We understand that your relationship with him at while at Hogwarts is, well, rather_ negative, however _we shall be in his home, and respect is required. Bear in mind that he is an important member of the Order, and that were is not for Severus' involvement with Harry over the last week, he most likely would not have survived."

Everyone filed into the kitchen, lost in thoughts as to what tomorrow would bring.

Back at Snape manor after what Severus thought of as "the-redundant-meeting-with-the-headmaster-that-did-more-damage-to-my-digestivetractthan-1,000-pots-of-coffee-could", Severus was preparing a brandy for himself and another custom concoction for his charge. Although he had expected Albus to desire Harry stayed in Hogwarts' infirmary, he was stunned when the request came that he continued to care for the boy. Physically the boy had improved since arrival, but his psychological state had deteriorated to a point that was frankly frightening.

Unsure of where to progress, Severus had asked Dumbledore for help, and not surprisingly, gotten a cryptic answer that "riddles are meant to be solved". Had the circumstances not been so dire, Severus would have followed this statement with his favorite bad joke 'actually, Riddle is meant to be killed!" This had seemed in particularly bad taste, and as such, he had kept this to himself.

Arranging the last ingredients of Harry's Stabilizing Potion, he was aware of the appearance of a house elf in the room. Without looking up, he questioned "yes, Ninny?"

"Master Severus, here is a letter for you. It is from a very annoying small owl that will not stop moving. Here you are, Sir."

Taking the envelope and nodding to the elf in a small black dress with a white apron, he began adding the shredded hippogriff hoof to the mixture, stirring counter-clockwise as he did so. Leaving the cauldron to boil for a full 10 minutes, he slit open the envelope, noting the Weasley family seal in blue wax on the back. Being that it was from Molly Weasley, Severus was pleased that the envelope was NOT red and did NOT contain a howler. Pulling the letter from in, he read.

_Dearest Severus;_

_Thank you so much for your attentiveness to Harry. Your selflessness and kindness in this matter is much appreciated. Professor Dumbledore informed us this evening of the situation, and we should very much wish to see him at your convenience. Ronald in particular is most anxious about his friend. _

_Please let me know if tomorrow is too soon._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Molly and Arthur Weasley._

With a loud groan, Severus took a sip of his brandy, noting that no one said no to Molly Weasley and lived comfortably to tell the tale. He stirred the final ingredient into the waiting potion, which had turned an admirable shade of puce, and removed it from the heat. Placing a cooling charm over it, he knew he would be up all night prepping a fresh batch of Calming Draught, as the last of it had been used upon their return from the Headmasters Office. Harry's meltdown had intensified to the point where he had begun retching, and his system was fragile enough that to allow the boy to dehydrate at this point would be a critical error. The boy had quietly accepted the potion, and had resumed his favourite activity of ceiling-staring.

Severus pondered how to best reply to Molly's letter. Should he warn them of how serious the boy's condition was, or did they already know? Should he limit the number of family members? Should he tell them all to bloody well bugger off, which is what he most wanted to do? And should he warn the boy of their impending visit, or leave it as a surprise? Or shock, as the case would most likely be. As he remembered the Weasleys, they were loud, raucous and overwhelming. Just what a recovering suicidally depressed disassociative teenager needed in his life! Severus snorted into his brandy snifter and picked up a quill with a deft movement.

_Messer and Mrs Weasley;_

_Tomorrow will suffice. Please arrive at Snape Manor no earlier than 1pm and no later than 1"15. The floo system will only be open during that time, as I am sure you will understand I am being cautious about security measures. I will debrief you and Harry will be prepared for your arrival. The elves will have aperitifs prepared for your enjoyment._

_With regards,_

_Professor Severus S. Snape._

Content with what he had written, Severus took a chunk of black wax, placed it into a silver ladle and melted it over the small flame normally reserved for his private cauldrons. Pouring a blob of said wax onto the envelope, he firmly pressed the Snape Family Crest into it, and then handed the letter to Ninny.

"Attach it to Poe, and he will deliver it. I do not trust another family's owl."

Bowing deeply, the elf thanked him and retreated from the room, leaving his to a long evening of potion brewing and worry.


	11. Blood Poison

Chapter 11 – Blood Poison

"Potter. Potter!" Hands shaking him, drawing him out of the dark and terrifying place.

"Potter! Potter, you must wake up! Potter, come now! Time to wake up." It was so hot, and dark, and he felt so ill…His blood was boiling, he was boiling, and the world was on fire. It would be too much effort to try and open his eyes; everything hurt, everything spun around him. Couldn't he just sleep a few minutes longer? He didn't have the strength to cope with his aunt, uncle and cousin today; too sick, too tired, too hot… too sick, too tired…hot, hot, hot.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled groggily. Unawares of where he was or who was attempting to rouse him, Harry assumed the worst and began with a disjointed apology. The safest bet was to apologize first, and then work out whatever travesty had passed. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Please don't be angry! I didn't mean too, honestly. I didn't know it would..." The words trailed off into and incoherent babbling.

_Sorry? What the hell was he sorry for?_ What trouble could the boy have gotten into since Severus had left him sleeping only four hours previous? None of the wards had gone off, and Ninny hadn't come to get him. Calling on all the patience he possibly could muster on no sleep and under moderate stress, and the knowledge that he had left a potion at a most inconvenient time. Pinching the bridge of his nose as hard as he could without drawing blood, Severus tried again. "Potter! Wake up this instant! Wake up!"

"I'm sorry; I'll go start breakfast immediately. I'm sorry I slept late. Is bacon, eggs and toast alright? I promise I won't burn anything. If you leave me then I will get dressed and prepare breakfast before Dudley is up. I don't need to eat, I'm not hungry."

_Breakfast? What in Hades is the boy talking about? And who in Merlin's name is Dudley? Sounds like something you would name a moron. Or a dairy cow._ _Or a moron_._ The boy is on fire with fever, and concerned about cooking breakfast? His eyes haven't even opened yet! Whatever is the boy ranting about?_

Not that Severus was anxious to look into those eyes right now. After years of trying to catch Harry off guard, he could hardly believe the thought of looking into those bright green eyes turned his stomach. He had often attempted to find out what sort of trouble Harry had been into with his two little buddies (the golden trio as they were called together), or hopeful he might divulge the secrets the blasted boy held.

Legilimancy had its shortcomings, and Severus felt himself battling an urge most powerful; although he was once a master at it, he now found controlling the ability was nearly impossible.

Like an addiction, it called to him. Powerful, strong, seductive and sweet. Purred ideas into his mind flooded his senses with an overwhelming need. The need to know all. Everything. Ever. He couldn't help himself sometimes. They didn't even know what was happening. Longings, desires, fears, hatreds, dreams, wishes, memories…. Memories so devastating that even they themselves didn't know consciously that they possessed them. He knew all these things and more. Knew more than he wished he did, more than he ever imagined he could. He hated it, he loved it, it sickened him, it tantalized him; it took quite a while before he regained control over his life so that is wouldn't completely overtake him. A necessary perversion, Dumbledore also possessed the ability. Severus felt that the Headmaster abused it more wantonly than he did; there were a few lines even the Potions Master refused to cross. Dumbledore was above nothing. He would do whatever it took. No matter how severe the violation.

'Hard to read a book with no writing, Severus'_ he thought to himself, and then angrily blocked the thought. _Drawn from his private lab by Potters late-night screams rebounding throughout the halls of the manor, Severus had taken the direct passageway into the boy's room, fear striking through him. It was illogical, but he had immediately assumed that there had been a security breach, that perhaps Malfoy, or worse, Voldemorte himself had been alerted to the boy's presence and state. Wand at the ready, Severus had sprung from the door hidden in the wall panel and had been stunned to find that….

The boy was still in his bed where Severus had left him. Relief flooded the man, and no small amount of anger at the realization the boy wasn't being murdered or tortured. Standing there reeling from the adrenaline rush, trying to lower his heart rate and control and violent throbbing which ran from his temple to the base of the spine and back again, he nearly jumped a foot when the boy began thrashing and let out another deafening shriek.

Knowing the secrets of the universe or at least of every wizard, witch and child around him was as alluring as any offering of galleons and sickles. In the beginning, it owned him. He was hell-bent on exposing everything; it possessed him, like an incessant itch which never left. A niggling thought at the back of his mind was always there, or rather, a soft soothing serpents tongue caressing him. What is he hiding (from you)? What should you know that they aren't telling you? What secrets (do they have)? What do they know (about you, which you don't want them to)? His insecurities fed the fire; there is nothing as voracious as self-glorification and nothing more powerful than being able to Lord over someone their basest desires.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Leaping into action, Severus was consumed by the need to stop the screaming. There had been too much screaming, so many screams in his life; he couldn't cope with the sound in his last sanctuary, his home.

Trying a different tactic to draw the boy out of his state, Severus spoke. "Breakfast is already cooked_, Harry, _and everything is fine so don't panic…worry yourself." Taking the sarcasm out of his general speech pattern and forcing his tonality to stay light, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and soldiered on. "However, it really is necessary that you wake up." Clearing his throat, Severus touched the boy's firey brow and added "please."

Harry's struggling stopped, and he suddenly went still. After a few moments, his breathing slowed, and the drawn look over his features faded. Severus stepped back from the bed, stunned. 'Bloody hell' he thought to himself, 'it really _is_ a magic word!'

Rolling onto his side, the boy-who-lived cautiously opened his eyes. He blinked slowly, lazily almost, and then confusion dawned over him "Professor Snape?" he asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?" Panic began to creep into his voice, and he sat up abruptly. "You need to leave sir, you can't be here. If the Muggles find you, then, then..."

Snape's retort was cold, calculated and denied any argument. "Then I shall kill them."

The boy's erratic behavior was cause for concern, and Severus seriously contemplated that idea that the dreamless sleep potion had corrupted, which could have resulted in not only nightmares, but a furthering of Potters delusions. The only way to allay the boys fear was to play along with the fantasy and let the boy trust him to keep him safe. It was a risky idea, and one that Severus didn't cherish. He had seen a spark of something in those eyes as the boy had awakened. The nothingness had been replaced with… abject terror. The current expression on Harry's face led Severus to speak again.

"No harm shall come to you here, Harry. I personally guarantee it, and would be willing to swear on a Wizards' Oath. I know you understand the magnamity of my swearing to this. No one will harm you, least of all a lot of pathetic Muggles." Disdain was heavy in his voice, and Severus could read that the boy believed him.

"I am going to ask Ninny to bring me a calming potion for you. I am deeply concerned that this stress has negatively affected your recovery. Do not fear, Harry; I will not leave the room, the house-elf will bring the necessary potions to us. You will not be alone; you will continue to be protected."

Harry suddenly took a great gasp of air, threw off the bedclothes and bolted towards the door. Stunned, Severus watched as he collapsed to the floor and began retching hard.

Whatever had assailed the boy in his dreams had upset Harry to the point of physical sickness. There would be a process of discovery to understand what the boy had been dreaming about, and whatever past experiences had triggered his reaction, but the time was not now. In three strides the Potions Master had crossed the room, draped his robe over the boy and cleaned the area with an authoritative "Scourgify!"

Great tremors shook Harry's body as he fell face forwards onto the floor and the retching ceased, his skin turning grey. Severus gathered the boy in his arms and carried him back to the bed. '_Still a mere wraith_,' he thought to himself as he covered the shaking body with the velvet covers. Ninny appeared beside the bed, emitting a small squeak upon noticing the state of the boy.

"Yes, Ninny, it is a serious as it appears. The trauma suffered had been more than just physical. I may need you again this night. Thank you."

Curtseying low, great tears rolling down the normally reserved elf's face, she backed out of the room and shut the door with a small click. She had become accustomed to her masters gratitude, and had learnt not to over-react to it. There was nothing her master hated worse than overt emotionalism, and her prostrations towards him had earned her nothing more than a lecture on self-respect in the past. The small elf often marveled at her incredible luck that the younger Snape was so much kinder than his predecessors.

The boy had curled himself up tightly on his side, two bright spots on his cheeks standing out in sharp contrast to the pallour of his skin and midnight hair. Severus took a tightly clenched fist from under the covers, and lightly flicking his wand uttered "Obliterate!" to remove the bandages swathing the arm. As they disappeared, he lightly held the wrist between his thumb and forefinger. There was a pulse, light as a fairy and fast as a jackrabbit. And Lords, but the boy was literally on fire. If nothing was done to calm the fever, irreparable damage would occur. And what would Albus do without his precious knight in the chess game known as their lives? Without Harry, all of wizardom would surely fall into a chaos, and eventual obliteration. They would inter-breed themselves into extinction if Voldemorte had his way. Looking at the shuddering, thin, weak figure in front of him, Severus highly doubted that their great white hope would do better than get a job at a local convenience store at the rate he was going. Most likely, he would be a bed-warmer at Saint Mungo's along with the esteemed Gilderoy Lockhart.

Harry was a child. Simply put, a child. With stresses upon him no adult should face. He was loath to admit it, but his nemisis' son was more victimized, more used, and more a pawn in Albus' games than he. Severus had willing placed himself into Albus' manipulative hands; one bad choice led to another, and he had prostituted himself to the light in an attempt to atone past sins. The boy, on the other hand… he simply had the unfortunate luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The boy's mother had saved him, yet he was lauded for it; Severus had believed Harry's bad press, refused to look at the truth because of past prejudices. _Well, you're paying for it now, my boy!_ He heard himself say. _Indentured slave to the Boy-Who-Is-Hell-Bent-on-Dying!_ At the rate he was going, the kid just might succeed, too. Severus did not want to think of the consequences should the boy pass.

Severus went to place the boys hand back onto the coverlet when the black night robes the boy was wearing fell back to reveal an angry bright red line running across the wrist. Long thin red striations ran length-wise up the arm and down into the palm. He had forgotten a sterilizing charm when he had healed the wounds, and the right wrist was terribly infected. Stunned at his stupidity, dumb-founded that the boy hadn't said anything; '_but of course he didn't Severus' _he chastised himself 'he_ was, after all suicidal, delusional and disassociative._' Severus actually doubted that the boy would have noticed, given the distraught state, or alternatively entirely disinterested state the boy was in.

Knowing that for once the skills required to treat Harry were beyond his skill level, and that his limited Medi-Wizard training would not permit opening, cleaning and debriding the serious infection from the arm, Severus was left with only one choice. Walking over to the large marble fireplace on the far wall, he removed the wards which blocked all wizards from not only using, but blocked all awareness of, his private entrances to the Floo network. There was only one person who could repair the damage, and maintain the level of discretion that they all required. Tossing a handful of the glittering powder onto the dull embers remaining in the grate, he called out,

"Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts infirmary!"


	12. Honourable

Thanks for your patience gang! Writing Harry for me is daunting at best, and overwhelming and terrifying at it's worst. Our beloved JKR has set the standards incredibly high, and I need to be in a specific mood to attempt to pull this off. I have unfortunately been experiencing the emotion known as "happiness" lately, and it has really buggered my writing style! I will work harder to be more miserable for the remainder of the winter- Bloody sunshine! Anyways, here we go for another round of Potterangst!

Harry Potter is More Than a Little Tired

"Really Severus, what possessed you and Albus to neglect having a proper certified medi-professional check the boy over? I wouldn't dare imagine your response if I began assessing and certifying all of the potions ingredients which arrived for school use without the involvement of our Potions Master? I would be afraid to leave the Hospital wing for fear of being hexed blind. Really! The gall of you two – how completely stunning, that he has a severe infection as a result of sealed wounds which were not cleansed with disinfecting spells and antibiotic dusting powder?"

"Poppy, if I may…"

"No _Severus,_ you may not! I have work to do here, and I must move quickly if I am to prevent permanent nerve damage to the wrists and hands."

"Poppy, I insist."

"Severus, seriously! Leave me alone to my job with young Potter. How did you say these wounds occurred again?

"He, rather, he lost control of his broom while staying at the Muggle residence and he erm, went through a window. Really rather fortunate that he thought to break the fall rather than go through the glass face first."

Clucking her tongue, Madame Pomfrey motioned at the cowering house elf in the corner of the room to assist her. Severus didn't even bother to offer his assistance at this point. To do so would further annoy an already seriously annoyed matriarchal witch. A dangerous move for any wizard. He felt compelled to speak in the Headmaster's defence, and clearing his throat began to do so.

"Poppy, I must let you know that Albus was only made aware of this situation earlier today. He is not responsible for the lack of tending to the infection. "

Silence fell heavy over the room, almost masking the rasping breaths of the delirious boy who lay shaking in a fevered sweat. Only Severus' keen awareness from years of spying on the most dangerous and deranged wizard in living history allowed him to notice the momentary hitch in the woman's repetitive opening, cleansing and debriding of the wounds on his charges arms.

"Well, if we are lucky, the boy will regain full use of his hand. It really is a serious infection." Her voice softened slightly, and she looked over at the dark, angst-riddled man in the corner. He truly looked distressed over the matter, and it appeared as if he had not eaten, or slept properly in a significant amount of time. "How did you wind up with this charge, Severus? I would have expected Minerva, or even Hagrid to have come to his aid. You seem a strange choice."

Severus flinched unintentionally. The concept of Hagrid handling a situation as sensitive and inflammatory as this was ludacris. It would be all over the daily papers in no time flat, and the boy would have bled out in the time the oaf would have been wailing over his state. No, the boy might be out of his mind, but his owl was truly omniscient. Bloody lucky for all of them, and Severus proceeded to tell that to the Medi-Witch. He stepped closer to the bed, careful not to interrupt or interfere, but it was fascinating to watch the red lines recede back towards their source, and then be drawn out by Poppy's methodical wand movements.

"You are wonderous.:" He spoke fluidly under his breath. "An under-rated art form, Poppy. To watch you work is to watch the most skilled witch of our time."

She blushed despite herself. Severus complemented no one, and the truth was, she felt a great respect for her chosen profession, a calling to it, and the knowledge that she might be saving the boy who would save their culture, heritage, their entire world, was on the brink of driving her to distraction. Severus taking the time not only to defend the Headmaster, accepting all responsibility for the boy (whom she had clearly noted he despised over the last 5 years, and, in her opinion, for good reason. He truly was a trouble maker, this son of James Potter, and that was indeed saying much. She had held little respect for Potter senior; in her opinion, a bully and a coward, to pompous and arrogant and uncaring by half. Too many students had arrived into her infirmary during his reign. Too many injuries and close calls, Severus had nearly been killed at his hand, twice, and had lived for many years with night terrors, anxiety and various physical wounds. Severus was also not a good man, however, his past dictated a certain future, and he had grown through the darkness to become, if anything_, honourable_. And in these times, that was indeed saying a lot. Being good was a nice touch, but being honourable kept those around you safe.)

Refocusing on the situation at hand, she drew the wand over the boys arm twice more, and then asked Severus to apply his most potent anti-biotic salve over the entire area.

"I should like to look back at this again in 24 hours Severus. If the infection attempts to take hold again, it will be far more serious the second time. Place continuous cooling charms over the boy until the fever breaks, and give him no other potions in the mean time. This should clear itself up, now that the worst is over."

Preparing to leave via the floo she arrived in, Madame Pomfrey bravely placed a hand on Severus thin shoulder. " You have clearly done the best you could, and I imagine the situation as it presented itself required some quick, brave and logical thinking in a desperate circumstance. Try to take a bit of rest, Severus. Where would the boy be if not for yoru selflessness? Don't look so stricken. The Headmaster should have been more aware to the boys' state. He could have acted had his attention not been diverted elsewhere. I will check in on you both tomorrow evening. Remember, no potions at this point. Good night, Severus. You are welcome." With that, the matriarch stepped into the dazzling emerald green flames and was gone.

Breathing a sigh of pent up anxiety, Severus turned around and relieved the dedicated Ninny of her duties for the remainder of the night, however long that may be. He was growing accustomed to meeting the sunrise in the wingback chair he had transported from his study. After having missed something as important as a severe infection, he swore he would be more diligent in his care of the boy.

It had been less than a minute since the house elf had been dismissed, all cowers and curtsies and undeserved gratuities, then the bane of Severus Snape's existence had roused from his sleep. Rushing to the boy, feeling the heat radiating off his body before he even touched the slick sweating brow, Severus was leaning over him to check his breathing. In this moment, the boy suddenly struggled and sat up, treating Severus to the fifth broken nose of his adult life, and a liberal dousing of vomit down the length of his robes. Pulliing back in pain, blood rushing forth to mingle with the bile soaking through the robes, Severus immediately regretted dismissing his servant, and wondered at his mashocistic side. Staunching the flow of blood with a spell, he began the duty of cleaning and replacing the bedrobes around his clearly unconscious ward. He wondered at what point in his life he could finally count his sins attoned, and have a small amount of peace in his life. He wondered at the amount of bile a boy who hadn't eaten for a day and a half could bring up. He wondered at the vast volume of blood the human face could gush forth. He regretted having worm his white silk shirt with the custom embroidery. Having cleaned, re-dressed and then re-checked Harry, he proceeded to allow himself the same luxury. The boy lay quietly now, and Severus felt comfortable enough to retreat to his chair an attempt a small rest.

On the edges of a fretful sleep, he jerked awake with a most disturbing thought. The entirety of Clan Weasley was due to arrive in less than 7 hours, and the boy who lived would be in no condition to receive them. All illusions of slumber dashed, Severus threw himself back out of the relative comfort of the chair and resumed his most favourite pastime to date : Pacing endlessly back and forth over the Persian carpet at the foot of Harry Potters bed.


	13. Symbelmine

Hey – Thanks for the nice reviews on my last chapter, and your patience in dealing with my updating issues. I do not own Symbelmine, Harry Potter, Sev (sadly, very sadly, baby) or anything else recognizable. See how many references you can find to FanFic Authors I respect, JRR Tolkien, and basically anything else. House points will be awarded. However, in true Slytherin fashion, preference will be given to those of my own house.

Symbelmine 

The mist seemed impenetrable. There was a significant amount of pain radiating from his arms, and as Harry trudged blindly along, stumbling occasionally over some inconsistancy in the terrain, which he couldn't see, he cautiously held his arms out. The potential of falling on his own face was just barely overriding the fear of increasing the pain in his arms. He wondered why he kept going; indeed, if it was even the right thing to do. Was he about to walk into one of Voldemorte's traps? Was the Dark Lord and bane of all Muggle borns watching his pathetic attempts and mocking him? Did he _know?_ Harry paused for a moment, contemplating this hideous thought, which had only recently entered his mind. What if he _knew? What if he knew that Harry had backed out of the fight?_ Oh Lords. They were all doomed. His friends, professors, their families, their children to come. All that he held dear about the world of magic, and potentially the "real" world… If Riddle knew that Harry had tried to, had wanted to…. Hope for the future would be lost, if the prophecy was indeed true.

The prophecy. Sirius. The Veil. The Veil! If only he had gone through after Sirius. No one would have believed that Harry Potter would intentionally go through the veil of whispered doom. The Veil of Death. Perhaps it was all an illusion? What if Sirius was indeed with him, half of a time plane away, in some semi-dimension so close that he could smell the sickness upon Harry's breath? What if he allowed this inviting darkness to overtake him, only to find that Sirius, his parents, Cedric, all those he loved who had passed on were not there to greet his arrival? What if he were to die alone, and then be trapped in isolation for all eternity? What if he really was never to see any of them again? What if the mortal realm was truly as good as it gets? His body collapsing into the (seemingly) mossy earth, Harry's mind travelled to Christmas Eve services at the church the Dursley's claimed to be a part of. So many people. So many praying to a God who potentially didn't exist, in an organization, which denied the existence and reality of all that he knew. So many expecting a miracle, the divinity of death, their saviour and those who went before them greeting them in gladness and love at the pearly gates or upon fluffy white clouds of condensation.

So many lies. The foundation of their culture was built upon them. What a stunner it would be for those Christians, to realise that they would be alone forever. A shudder ran through him, and he gasped for breath at the concept of being in this uncertain place for the remainder of his conscious (or was it post-conscious?) existence. He shuddered again, and a sudden grasping pain in his chest felt as if it were crushing him. Hell, he though briefly. A literal hell of pain and anguish, both physical and mental. What worse that an eternal uncertainty for the mortal mind? A convulsive spasm overtook his body and the crushing pain in his chest released, then returned more forcefully.

Alone. Alone. He was to die alone, and then his spirit would remain alone. "_That's what you get for killing yourself 'arry."_ He heard Hagrid mumbling somewhere from behind him. "_It's dead disrespec'ful, you being lucky to have been born with the wonderful and kind Albus Dumbledore lookin' af'er you an all. It was hard, no doubt, with He-who-must-not-be-named on your case and all, but still… lucky, I'd reckon. Bloody spoiled, ruinin' that and all."_

"_Really Harry, I'm sure that there's a better way to deal with all this. Why don't we go to Headmaster Dumbledore? Should I use my pass to thre restricted section and see what I can find to help you with this? Don't' be rash Harry? I'm sure that there's a lot of trouble you can get into with this1 Be careful!"_

"_Hermione's right, you know Harry." _Where the hell did Ron come from? And he was right – Hermione normally was right – even as she went along with all our plans, preaching all the way. She was always right. And yet we never listened. Sorry, 'Mione. Sorry we called you by a nickname you hated too. I leave you Hedwig. She and Crookshanks really get on. Sorry Ron. You were a better mate than anyone gave you credit for, a Gryffindor star in your own right. Sorry I overshadowed you. I hope you play the role we need you to as a strategist in the upcoming war. We will need you. They will need you.

"Harry! Harry! Hecate's Ghost! He's having a HEART ATTACK! No spells or potions my ass, He's going to die here in my guest quarters. NINNY! "

Severus his only just staunched the flow of blood from him nasal passages, and had been attempting to go into a fretful half-sleep, when a change in the boys breathing pattern had occurred. He was out of the chair, before he even knew why, and at the boy's side a step later. The Childs body was wracked with tension, his mouth gaping like a Grindylow on dry land. A quick check of the carotid revealed a terrible thing. His heart was trying to stop. The boy-who-lived had given up trying. Letting him go never passed Severus' mind. He simply didn't think that way. Problems to be solved, the beauty of potions making. He hollered at the house elf again.

"NINNY! Floo Pomfrey at Hogwarts' Infirmary now. Potters having a heart attack. I need to know the charm to reverse this!"

The diligent house elf tearfully acquiesced, reverent as always of her master, and he affection for her troubled new charge threatening to interfere with her focus on the task at hand.

Standing before her master's great fireplace, she took a handful of the glimmering white powder and threw it over-handed into the small flame glowing there. Swallowing her terror, as the flame grew huge, she took a great breath and plunged her head into the center of the green flames. " Madame Pomfrey! Severus Snape is needing you!"

"_Oh, Harry." _Stunningly, Dumbledore had the least to say. Interesting, as much of this could be blamed on him, Harry felt empathetic to the remainder of his puppet army. The best was yet to come. He promised them nothing, and apparently Albus always kept his promises. At this point tom seemed a better bet. More reward to. At least his troops had some recreational fun along the way. Harry found that he was growing tired of the Headmaster's hypocritical gaze. In this place, he had a choice, and so Harry pulled away and drifted elsewhere. It was tremendously funny that Harry realised that he preferred his Potion Masters honest spite to Dumbledore's kindly lies. How one grows and learns along the way. Dumbledore was no grandfather; he was a cunning strategist, an army general of the most ruthless kind. All would sacrifice for his cause.

The darkness began to recede, and Harry realised that he was not lying upon a bed of moss, but rather of thousands upon thousands of tiny white flowers. He has surrounded by them, supported by them, and oddly, comforted by them. Their slight, star-shaped faces peered up at him from all around, seemingly cushioning him from the pained in his body. He felt it become muted, he felt as if he were floating in a sea of flowers. There was a soft fresh smell about him, and an occasional green petal peeped up between the flower heads. Harry knew this was wrong, somehow; he had never seen anything like this, and it felt as if it didn't belong in this dark terrifying place. However, he hoped to pass from conscious existence here, surrounded by beauty and for the moment, feeling safe from the terror of abandonment and loneliness. The feeling that things were out of place, that something seemed wrong in the telling of his story wouldn't leave him. He continued floating, and then realized: _Symbelmine. The star-shaped flowers which grew upon the tombs of kings. Kings of Horse-masters._ Somehow Harry highly doubted a Thestral counted in these matters. He was no king. He was many things, but he was not a King, or any royalty for that matter, contrary to popular belief. Just a boy without parents who would die before his time. The pressure upon his body increased. The flowers around him appeared to bow their heads in sorrow. No royalty he.

He turned to look upwards, subtly aware that another grasp of pressure was overtaking him, gleefully overtaking him. He looked upon the stars above him, glanced sideways at the small stars surrounding him, breathed deeply and allowed himself to fall completely into him. A small speck in the cosmos, nothing else mattered now; whether or not he had actually existed, whether there were many or just himself alone; whether it was all just a chaotic dream, or a chapter in an overly-long book; all was well. The stars supported him, caressed him, and seemingly became part of him. He was a star. He had never been real. Carbon. Oxygen. Mostly carbon. A malleable mass. Nothing but a whole lot of hot air. From below the pain came and ironic chortle, manifesting itself as a coughing fit. Hot air indeed. His enemies would have a hay day. At this point he felt that there was no air at all. Didn't your body explode in the absence of oxygen? He would soon find out. All never endings were on fire, and the end was surely near.

As he opened his eyes one last time to gaze upon the teeming cosmos, to melt along with his brothers and sisters in the heavens, a final desperate hope to be consumed by the overwhelming beauty. A childlike hope that it would be greater than the degree of his suffering somehow, that it would override the physicality of his dying body. Eyes ashine with hope, he was dismayed and startled to look upon the overly-concerned face of Severus Snape.


	14. Dedication

OK Yall! I am getting so excited about the ½ Blood Prince! WE are having a big party here in Vancouver BC – a place called KidsBooks - ,000 dress up, meet at midnight on the 16th of July, go to Gringotts to retrieve our first copy of the book! Too cool, no? I am excited about finding out WHO the ½ Blood Prince is! A year is a LONG time between books, for speed-readers, isn't it? Big love to all my readers, fans and reviewers, who have waited far too long for an update – we will finish this soon, I promise! Writing Fanfic is harder once you turn 30 – real life sets in! Thanks everyone, you keep my inspiration fired up!

Dedication

Chapter 14 

His return was more painful that he could ever have imagined. The pressure returned tenfold, his entire body rebelling in agony against him. Noises were overly shape; the usually dulcet tones of Professor Snape ringing painfully shrill and shapr against his ears. Straining hard, he shut his eyes against the offensive glare of the fire. It shot daggers through his brain and his stomach threatened to revolt against him.

"Potter?" More softly yet, "Harry?"

A wand raised was carefully run over the length of his body and back again. He could feel the magic penetrating his skin, searching, searching through his very being … Harry forced himself to breathe in a slow and controlled rhythm, although he felt periously close to a panic attack. His chest, well, ached. He couldn't move about freely, his largest fear being confinement and an inability to exert any control over his life was now coming true.

A long thrumming pain radiated from his core, persistent and unrelenting. An exhaustion so complete threatened to take over his mind, and draw him back to the dark nameless place where nothing mattered. Something in the Potions Masters tone encouraged him to overcome the exhaustion, and attempt to deal with the inevitable discomfort of conciousness. He wondered if he might regret his next actions later, but felt obligated to try.

"Professor Snape, Sir?" The words nearly tore his lungs out from beneath his ribs. Harry reeled from the effort of the spoken word. He wished desperately that he could kythe with the man who had saved his life repeatedly. As soon as he thought it, a flash enlightened his mind – _Why don't you try? You might be surprised at the outcome, young Potter._

The words were not his, and Harry's eyes rolled back once again under heavy lids as he realized that he could communicate without spoken word, without significant effort or energy, with the man he viewed as one of his greatest enemies for the last five years of his life. Some things were too difficult, too confusing to bear.

'Well, Hells inglorious Bells. He's bloody well unconscious again. He asked for the silent communication, and I gave it to him. This boy is never satisfied! Just like his Fucking father!' As soon as the last thought crossed his mind, Severus immediately regretted it. '_Lilly, forgive me. Your blood flows much stronger through his veins. James wouldn't think twice about social responsibility, his role in the great picture, nor his impact, positive or negative, on those around him. Lilly, your quiet concerns lie in your son's blood, your firey disposition rules him. He cannot control himself, and it might well destroy him. He is wrought with insecurities; something James would never understand. I have acted unfairly towards your only child; forgive me!_' Tears scrolled down Severus' face as he sent his last thoughts up like a prayer. He honestly felt his had dishonoured her memory, disrespected all She had stood for, and had been callous and jaded in his actions. Had he been able to read his mind right now, Severus was certain Albus would have fainted dead away. Much like Potter had.

Running another diagnostic charm over the boy's frail body, Severus prepared to administer another dose of the Deadly Nightshade Concoction which formed the base of the Heart's Constitution Potion. It had saved the boy thus far, Severus' quick thinking and knowledge of the abstract had guaranteed this. Poppy had healed the infection, but clearly the extensive blood loss, psychological instability, and malnutrition had led to Potter's deteriorated state. He had no muscles left on his body what-so-ever, (had this boy not been a STAR quidditch player?) He was simply skin and sinew – nothing more. Severus held onto the bare hope that underneath all the trauma, abuse and overwhelm Harry's mind might still be intact. _Fat chance!_ A voice in his head howled back to him. _You looked into his eyes, or, rather, attempted to. Nothing left to read, the slate has been wiped clean. Even if you succeed in saving him, he will be nothing better than a school janitor like old Argus Filtch; the world's biggest loser!_

"Fuck You:" Severus said out loud.

"Oh, yes master! Ninny will be Fucking Herself off, right now:" The House-elf made to disappear from the room, and Severus quickly stopped her actions.

"Ninny, Ninny, no, don't leave right now. It is a figure of speech, I was Speaking to…. Well, my negative thoughts." He answered weakly. It sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

The house-elf clearly felt he was lying to her. It was not the first time she had heard those words, and she understood their meaning entirely. The look on her face clearly portrayed this inner conflict.

"No, I mean it. I command you to stay here, Ninny. Lords only know when I will need assistance."

Giving her master a most piercing look, the house-elf resumed her guard by the door.

Walking over to the poster bed. Severus placed a lean hand on the coverlet. Feeling the consistent rise and fall of his wards chest. Reassured for the moment that the boy was not dying, he resumed his vigil in the old burgundy leather chair near the bay windows. Resting his head heavily upon the back, he was near a moment of respite when the heavy chiming of the Floo network sounded. Starting abruptly, he found that Harry was still resting quietly and Ninny had made herself scarce.

The Floo network sounded again. In his chagrin, Severus rose , longing for a cup of extremely strong tea, and began the ardurous task of heading across the chamber to the room. At that moment a knock sounded, and the timid voice of Ninny announced " The Family Weasley has arrived, Sir!"

Resting a hand against the foot poster of the bed, Severus realised that the last 24 hours might indeed be a picnic in comparison to the next 24. running a hand through his ragged hair, he instructed the house-elf. " Please ensure that they all receive tea and refreshments. Divert their attentions so that I can prepare Harry and myself to receive them.'

"Yes sir, right away sir!" Squeaked the diminutive creature through the heavy oak door.

Severus was relieved to note that a steaming cup of black coffee now sat at the bedside table, as well as the necessary supplies to make Harry appear presentable.

"Circe be at my side for this ordeal." He prayed as he gulped down the boiling brew and prepared to clean up his charge.


	15. Weasleys

**Harry Potter Is More Than a Little Tired Chapter 15**

**Weasleys**

The family arrived in a tousled bunch, bursting forth in a dusty ashen pile through Snape Manor's extravagant main fireplace in the ballroom. The entire family could stand comfortably within the confines of the fireplace, and it was dually noted by all the Weasley children that Professor Snape must be really, really loaded.

"Why bother teaching when you have this?" George queried.

"Bet he shits Galleons," Fred mock-whispered to George.

"Cor, that would hurt!" Ron interjected.

"Look at this place, it's bigger than our whole house!"

"I think it's as big as HogWarts. Who would've thought the greasy old git had this kind of money? He could rival Malfoy!"

"With that kind of money, you'd think he could wash his hair!"

Ginny went red with embarrassment at the boy's banter, and Mrs Weasley was quickly turning puce from the lack of respect and poor manners her children were already displaying upon their arrival.

"Get some manners NOW, boys!" She spoke quietly, but the tone was deadly. "How dare you come in here acting like low class, gutter-raised trolls? Lack of money does NOT equate to lack of self-respect. Keep your mouths shut until we leave, or I will do it for you! "

All the boys quickly muttered apologies, and turned attention to removing the last of the ash from their traveling cloaks, while both Arthur and Ginny began to inspect the glorious engravings and architecture of the room they were in. With a sudden crack, a small well-dressed House Elf appeared before them, and offered to take their cloaks. She disappeared under the load of traveling garb, then literally disappeared, and returned back in a heartbeat before them.

"Master Severus asks that you Weasleys all follow me to the drawing room, where wes has some nice tea and refreshments laid out." The elf was very nervous, and so Arthur and Molly smiled kindly and nodded, and the whole family followed her through the ballroom, down a well-lit carpeted hall into a large drawing room. The fire was roaring in the hearth, and the boys were quick to dig into the array of cakes, cookies, sandwiches and sweets laid out on the table. Only Ginny held back and taking her mother's arm asked "when can we see Harry? Mom, shouldn't we be going to see Harry not having a party in Professor Snape's house?"

Arthur and Molly exchanged a look while the matriarch decided what to tell her youngest. They had both noted that Severus had not greeted them upon their arrival, a standard wizarding custom, and it was clear that a lovely lunch and tea had been set out to sate them during his absence. None of this boded well with the two of them, and Severus only broke tradition for very serious reasons. Trying to keep up the façade that all was well in the Wizarding World, Molly gave Ginny her most reassuring smile/

"Ginny, although you may not notice it at school, Professor Snape is a courteous wizard from very old lines. It is customary to provide libations to your guests, and this is truly lovely. We will see Harry very soon. Why not have a little treat? Arthur, will you please pour me a spot of tea? Thank you."

Arthur had already moved across the room and was pouring two cups of tea, ignoring the boys who were scarfing down as much food as they could possibly cram down their throats with asphyxiating. Another genial smile at Ginny, and she too took a biscuit and sat down on the edge of a Queen Elizabeth chair.

"If he's such a traditionalist, how come his House Elf greeted us?" Asked George, who knew all the appropriate etiquettes but chose not to follow them.

"George!" Mrs Weasley's voice was taking on a shrill tone, but she was relieved of any need to further reprimand the elder twin by the silken voice of the House's owner.

"My sincere apologies for not greeting you in person, Arthur and Molly," eyes skimmed over the children briefly before he turned back to the adults. "As you know, taking care of ailing" a slight flare of the left nostril, "_children _can be both taxing and demanding. Young Mr Potter has had a most difficult evening, and due to the ever-changing status of his condition has required my _administrations_ until just now. I trust that my House Elf Ninny has provided you with acceptable food and drink for tea?"

Quickly placing his cup and saucer down, Arthur rushed forward with his hand extended and a genuinely strained smile upon his face.

"Severus, dear sir, thank you so much we have been well attended in the most courteous fashion. I trust that this finds you well?"

"Thank you Arthur, I am well. I trust that you and the family are all in good form?" At his most proper, Severus could be downright tolerable, and reached out and gave a firm and genuine handshake. Up close, Arthur noted instantly the signs of the extreme strain the other man had tolerated over the summer. The stress of the Order compounded by the charge of the suicidal Saviour of the wizarding world was apparent in the new lines marking the other man's face, and the subtle effects of a recently cast glamour charm over a newly re-broken nose and dark circles under the eyes.

Molly came forwards to shake his hand also, murmuring so quietly that the eavesdropping offspring couldn't hear. "Bless you Severus; you've done what none of the rest of us could." A rose hue appeared in the Potion Masters face for the briefest of moments, muttering "nonsense!" He then motioned for everyone to sit down. He paced across the room to the large alcove windows overlooking cliffs which dropped down to the sea far below. Pinching the bridge of his nose and carefully avoiding the intense stare of the youngest (and in his opinion, the most talented) Weasley, he began to address them about the matter of Harry Potter.

"It is of utmost importance," he began, trying to assure that he would convey the severity of the situation without inciting panic, "it is of utmost importance that Potter not be" he cleared his throat, allowing a moment to deduce the best wording "distressed."

Eyes wide, mouths agape ('typical, must be a Weasley' Lucious spoke in his mind) he had the full attention of the red headed clan. Taking another breath, slightly taken aback by his lack of poise in this moment he began again.

"Young Mr Potter, Harry" He noted that Ronald looked across at his twin brothers and mouthed the word "Harry?" but continued on. "Harry has overcome some rather extreme physical and health problems over the past month. He is far from healed, and came to me in a malnourished and severely injured state." Tears from the Weasley girl at this ('Yes little one, it is as bad as you thought it was') and hand-wringing from Molly followed by copious shoulder-patting from her husband.

"Three times now he has nearly died since arriving in my care. His heart has been damaged most grievously. He needs quiet, he needs support, and in all honesty he needs to be left alone to expert care. When we arranged this meeting, we were unaware, rather, with the events that have transpired in the last 24 hours we would have told you not to come. Both Madame Pomfrey and I have been working diligently overnight to repair the damage. Physically there is a strong chance that Harry will survive, however, he only briefly became aware of his surroundings, and has since then been unconscious."

Shock was written clearly on all their faces, three which were now tear-streaked, and the boys were all on their feet. The youngest Weasley had gone shockingly pale, and Severus hoped that she didn't faint and he would have a second patient to be concerned about. He had already spent far too much time away from Potter, and his sense of foreboding was growing. This was all taking longer than he should like, and a headache was blossoming into a tempest behind his eyes. Deciding it was time to leave, he concluded his speech.

"Should you wish to see Mr Potter, you must come one at a time, it will only be for a moment so that you can reassure yourselves he is still alive, and be prepared. It is clear to the eye that he has been on his deathbed." Turning to leave, he motioned at them. "My House Elf shall return momentarily. Should you wish to see Mr Potter, she will escort you to his suite. I bid you all good day, and extend an offer to relax and enjoy the refreshments as long as you should choose."

As the door closed behind him, the only remaining Snape took a deep breath, vowed to create an ant-acid potion sooner rather than later, muttered a calming spell over his now throbbing headache, and dimmed all the lighting in the halls to Potters quarters. He willed the Weasley's to leave his home and never return, and his long stride broke into a trot as he raced back to ensure that his charge was still alright. Reaching the door to Potters rooms, he released the wards and flung the door open. To his relief, all was as he had left it.

Potter had cleaned up surprisingly well after nearly dying of a coronary. Severus' spell work was second to none (8 O's in the Ordinary Wizarding Level can't be wrong) and as a result the boy was clean, hair combed and even tidy for once, and the bedding and bedclothes had been replaced with fresh new linen. A refreshing charm had sweetened the air in the room, a small fire glowed in the fireplace, and everything appeared positively serene. The added affect of skin Glamours added color to the boy's cheeks (rather than the fever flush which had resided there the previous week) and made him appear less skeletal. He looked more like he was recovering from a bout of the Dragon Pox, rather than heart failure.

As he approached the boy, Severus noted the rhythmical rise and fall of his chest, turned to the House Elf at her post and told her to go and attend the Weasley family.

"I hope that they do not decide to pay a visit to our charge, but should they elect to, please escort them here yourself Ninny."

"Yes sir, I will be doing that sir!" With that she disappeared.

"Your infernal friends are here to see you, Harry. I doubt that you can hear me, less comprehend what I am saying. I am going to charm you to stay unconscious. We don't need any blood pressure spikes, or emotional outbursts. You won't be able to move your limbs or awaken from your dreams, so I hope they are sweet. It is not my choice to do this, it is a necessity. Somnulus!"

Down in the parlor a heated discussion had begun.

"I'm not leaving 'til I see him!" Ron was shouting "Merlin only knows what that git has done to Harry!"

"Ron!" Molly raised her voice. "Apologize now!"

"I need to see Harry Mom, what if he dies?" Ginny was her palest yet, attempting to stand but her knees buckled and she sat back down hard. "I need to see him, to tell him things"

"You love him don't you?" Fred cut in incredulously.

"Quite the choice of boyfriends, Gin!" George interjected "you like the high profile angst-ridden type hey?"

"I will deal with you two when I return to the burrow!"

Ginny began crying in earnest, and Molly sent the two twins to the ballroom to floo home immediately.

"I can't believe he would do this to me!" Ron spoke up. "Harry was my best mate!"

"You can go home now too! This is not about you Ronald Weasley, haven't you learned anything? Join your brothers now; you will not be seeing Harry today! Of all the terrible things I've heard from my children, you are a real traitor to Harry, Ron! I am embarrassed you are my son today!" Molly's fury was palpable in the room.

"I feel that we should respect Professor Snape and return another time to see Harry children." Arthur's logic attempted to cut through the din. "If he is as ill as we have been told, he shouldn't be disturbed. Your Professor seemed truly concerned about him, and with the prophecy, should we lose Harry we will lose our world as we know it."

At that, Ginny did faint dead away, and Arthur walked over and scooped her up in his arms. Severus' House Elf had reappeared, and Arthur summoned her to bring their cloaks as they were leaving. Ushering Ron out into the hallway, Molly shook her head at the embarrassment known as her family. Her children were going to receive a rude awakening on the morrow. Etiquette lessons were going to begin in the Weasley household. That is, once they had revived Ginny.

With a final flame of green, Ninny bade farewell the clan which had so greatly disturbed the sanctuary of her home. Wishing that they never returned again, she returned her master's drawing room to its previous pristine state, and then went to inform her master of their mutual good fortune.

"Bless Circe!" Severus sighed upon hearing the glad tidings. He truly was in no mood for any more raucous banter, and his charge couldn't handle any setbacks. He checked Harry once again, contemplating removing the sleep charm. As his head throbbed and the pain began to escalate further, he opted for a few hours of undisturbed rest, and settled back into his preferred wing-back, promptly fell into a deep sleep for the first time since Harry Potter's arrival.


	16. Embrace

**Harry Potter is More Than a Little Tired**

**Chapter 16**

**Embrace**

The house elf was ensconced, after much heated insistence(I's is NOT needing a chair master Severus!) in a chair at Potter's bedside, while Severus himself attempted to get two hours of uninterrupted sleep before administering the next round of potions to his charge. The room he had chosen was the first guest room; directly across the hall from his personal quarters which his teenage house guest currently occupied. There were no more than three strides between the doorways, twelve from bed to bed.

The boy had been relieved of his charm-induced sleep upon the Weasley's decision to leave the manor, yet he slept on without disturbance. Severus had begun to note his focus slipping after the debriefing, and made the decision that sleep in a proper bed was required. Clarity was something which potions and medicine required – there was no room for a lack of focus, and distraction was deadly. Without turning back the coverlet, Severus was asleep within moments of lying down. The room was bright as the curtains hadn't been drawn and it was early afternoon yet the exhausted man slept hard.

It was a rare occasion where he was not disturbed by nightmares and illusions, where sleep came without copious amounts of borderline illegal sleep remedies. An overtaxed body won out over the stressful overactive mind, and he awoke slowly hours later, the house silent and the sky black beyond the windows. It was a slow realization that he was not in his bed at the school, nor his quarters at the family manor. He sat up abruptly, and then everything from the last 48 hours flooded him. The fever, the coronary, the Weasleys… How long had he slept? What had gone wrong with Harry during that time? How many potions was the boy overdue for? Swinging his long legs over the bed and straightening his robes as he stood, Severus swept across the hall and into the adjacent room.

It was with great relief that he noted both the house elf and ward were where he had left them. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room showed 3:25, and although a brief annoyance flashed through his chest that the elf hadn't woken him within 2 hours as he had requested, Severus found he was pleased to have slept 12 hours straight through. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that and not been recovering from a curse.

Approaching quietly, not wanting to startle the elf into histrionics and thus Potter, he spoke softly. "It is late Ninny, how is the boy faring?"

"I is letting you sleep master! You is exhausted, you is not always healthy either and needs rest! The boy is sleeping all night, without waking up or calling out. He is not dying while Ninny watches him. Master Severus was sick also when he was a boy; Ninny was not letting him die! Ninny is a good house elf; she is knowing how to care for sick boys!"

"Thank you Ninny, you have preformed admirably through this ordeal. I will resume my duties with the boy – you are relieved of all household chores for the remainder of the day, as I wish you to rest. Please do not disobey these orders!"

"Oh yes, Master Severus is far too kind! He is a good wizard, he is kind to the elves! Please be calling Ninny for anything you or the boy will need!"

"I will Ninny – you are dismissed." With that, the elf snapped her fingers and popped out of the room to her own sleeping area. Moving his wingback closer and conjuring a pot of Breakfast Tea and the latest copy of Ars Alchema onto the bedside table, Severus readied himself for a morning of taking vital signs and reading up on the latest Potions theories.

Hours had passed in this fashion, and as the sun began it's ascent in the sky, breakfast appeared on the table for him. Grateful that the elf remembered food for him (he never would have) Severus organized his boiled eggs onto the well buttered toast when he noticed a shift in the boy's breathing pattern. Looking up and expecting the boy to be regaining consciousness, he was unimpressed to note the boy's skin had taken on a waxy tone, and his breathing had grown shallower. Setting his breakfast aside, he began taking vitals. The boy's skin was hot and clammy, and upon listening to his lungs Severus noted there was a raspy shallow quality to the lungs which hadn't been there the day before. Apparently the boy was indeed now ailing from pneumonia as a result of the aspirated vomit three days previous.

Leaving both the boy and the now congealing poached eggs behind, he took the shortcut to his Lab and went to the section which contained all his antibiotics. Severus' home laboratory was no less stocked than a Muggle pharmacy – he had almost every chemical concoction known to man stored there, with the appropriate cooling or heating charms applied as needed. When used aggressively as treatments, his potions could do the work of more potent Muggle drugs in half the time.

Storing the various vials in a small metal container, he returned to Potters room, which was quickly beginning to smell of illness again. Casting a refreshing charm to counteract the increasing scent of ill health, he went to the boy's bedside. Unable to rouse the boy from his unconscious state, Severus carefully placed an arm under his back, and drew the boy forwards so that his from was draped over a darkly clad shoulder, arms around the older man's neck. With the boy in this position, Severus could rearrange the pillows so the boy would be resting upright, enabling him to breath easier. As Severus went to lay the boy back onto the freshly fluffed feather pillows and pulled back, Harry resisted weakly, arms feebly clasping around his neck in an embrace. Uncertain, Severus moved to extract himself from the boy's grasp but stopped when he heard his charge whimper in response. Unaccustomed to any attempt at affection, even one so deluded, Severus sat with the boy's head on his shoulder, left arm and hand slowly going numb from the weight. He shifted slightly, hoping to detach the boy, as Harry had begun to get feverish and sweaty, the smell of sick intensifying and causing Severus' stomach to churn uncomfortably. This time the boy cried out, and tears leaked from under heavy lids. Confused but determined, he succeeded in propping Harry up in his bed, smoothing the hair which had glued itself onto the boy's brow and pulled the bedding up under the boy's chin. These movements seemed to settle the child, and Severus moved to douse him with the potions while his patient was so acquiescing.

That last difficult task completed, Severus dimmed the remaining lights from the room, drew the curtains and sat listening to the rasp of Harry's breathing by the light of the fire.


End file.
